Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall
by I love music
Summary: COMPLETE Draco, Astoria and Scorpius receive an invitation. Mostly light-hearted but some angst.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Quite a few people asked for a sequel to _The Perfume of the Roses_ and _The Roses Grow_ so thought I'd try writing one. This is mostly light-hearted though there's a little angst. Will keep the chapters short, it just seems more appropriate. The title is stolen from a Simon and Garfunkel song. :)

 **Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall**

 **chapter one**

 **The Invitation**

The owl tapped on the window at 6.30 in the yellow early morning light and waited patiently for someone to answer the summons, tapping his foot and flapping his wings in order to draw attention, while glaring impatiently at the family of birds who peered down at him from the eaves of the rooftop and who were apparently the only ones who deigned to notice his presence. Stupid, inferior muggle birds, he deduced. (Of course, Reader, we cannot know for certain this is what the owl was thinking, none of us being proficient in owlology – _yet;_ I understand this new magical art is, appropriately enough, in its fledgling stages, and being studied by a handful of very clever witches and wizards – but, judging by its behaviour, we may take an educated guess.)

The father of the inferior muggle birds at length came down for a closer look, bravely or foolishly, depending on your viewpoint, dive-bombing the owl and then trying ineffectually to peck when the visitor ignored him. A majestic flap of wings and loud hoot however soon sent him flying back to his nest, where much righteous squawking by both he and his spouse and four babies ensued.

And at long last and not a minute too soon a window opened.

Woken abruptly by the noise that startled her out of her bed, Astoria Malfoy _nee_ Greengrass peered down into the garden, where pink, red, yellow and white roses still glistened from the night's gentle rain and heavenly scents permeated the quiet morning air. Pretending he'd not been waiting on the wrong window-ledge but merely passing time – honestly, these muggle houses were all exactly the same, nothing like magical properties with their wards and peculiar shapes and crooked doors, with their curling smoke and interesting smells from brand new potions being brewed and their sudden bright flashes lighting up the sky from wonderful spells being conjured! - Trimblefeathers (yes, Reader, _really!_ ) immediately flew on to the one above and stuck out his leg. Astoria stared at him for a moment and sighed. "You're not Daphne's owl, Henrietta."

Well, for Merlin's sake, it was obvious he wasn't! Were all muggles stupid? Wait, wait! These people couldn't have been muggles. Muggles didn't receive owl communication. At least, not often. Not unless they were in the know about the magical world that existed right under their noses and yet never saw. Maybe because they didn't open their eyes wide enough to see or maybe because the wizarding world was adept at staying hidden, Trimblefeathers wasn't sure. He was a very young owl, after all, and his owner not much older. She certainly hadn't briefed him on anything much except how much fun it had been to meet somebody called Scorpius Malfoy.

That particular subject, his owner never stopped talking about and Rose Weasley could talk non-stop. And read non-stop too, frequently choosing to do both at the same time. Thus Trimblefeathers knew his name had been taken from a muggle children's book about different nocturnal creatures told in a simple storytelling format. The fictitious Trimblefeathers belonged to a boy named Rob, who chose it simply because he thought trimble was rather a nice word to say ( _the real life Trimblefeathers despaired at times of some muggle writers, he really did_ ) and Feathers presumably because he was a bird, as neither Rob nor the author took the trouble to explain the suffix. No doubt the boring fictitious owl, who did nothing more exciting than hoot and appear wise (ha!) and swoop down to carry off mice, didn't even know the meaning of the word suffix anyway and never dreamt there were magic owls who ferried messages back and forth to the wizarding community. The real-life Trimblefeathers congratulated himself on his own importance as he graciously accepted an owl treat from the pretty lady with the glossy long hair and smiling eyes and, reply attached to his leg, soared into the sky once more. He hoped the reply was favourable, he was sick and tired of the debates, what with Rose Weasley and her small brother Hugo leading the pleas for a certain Scorpius Malfoy to be entertained at their home as promised, with Mr Ron Weasley holding forth with a firm No and Mrs Granger-Weasley being prepared to "consider" albeit erring on the side of caution, and finally being swayed in favour or keeping the promise. Besides, he was curious to meet this character. Let it be Yes, let it be Yes, he found himself chanting under his breath like a Babbling Bat as he flew.

Of course, as owlology is not yet an established science, the reader should note that our observations on the musings of young Rose Weasley's owl is pure guesswork. All we can be certain of at this precise moment is that the pet owl was named Trimblefeathers after a story she'd read and that an invitation to the Malfoy family to spend the afternoon in the company of the Granger-Weasley and Potter families had been...

...Accepted.


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thank you to JeanAndBilius for reviewing and also adding to Follows and Faves; also to Guest and rebecca-in-blue for reviews. Greatly appreciated. :) Rebecca, Trimblefeathers is my own invention and not from any other fandom. As I plan for him to reappear later in the story I thought he should be properly introduced. ;D

 **Chapter 2**

 **Reaction**

"...and at first I thought the owl may have been from Daphne, but then I quickly realised it wasn't Henrietta," Astoria told her husband and son for the third or fourth time, unselfishly glossing over her disappointment.

"I'm so sorry your sister hasn't owled you yet," Draco whispered guiltily. Astoria never gave hope of one day being reconciled with her family. Lord and Lady Greengrass. her elder sister Daphne and all assorted Greengrass relatives had long disowned her, not only because she and Draco turned their backs on the old pureblood ideals but because she married one of the _"cowardly, traitorous, defecting Malfoys"._ His wife merely gave a small smile and squeezed his hand reassuringly. The reactions from the two men in her life to the tale of the early morning messenger had been vastly different but both were eager to hear it. Several times.

Scorpius wanted to hear the story over and over because he was so excited at the prospect of seeing Rose and "the gang" again. Draco needed to hear it oft repeated word for word in case he missed something the previous time. Okay, so they had all met briefly at the cemetery that fateful day ***** , when the Malfoys had gone to lay roses on Narcissa and Lucius's graves and the Potter, Granger and Weasley clan gone to pay their respects to the late Fred Weasley and, okay, as Scorpius seemed to get on well with their brood, a vague invite for a play-date some time in the future had been issued. But surely it had been nothing more than polite chit-chat in front of the kids and nobody really meant it? Therefore was there an ulterior motive for this invitation? He didn't come right out and say so, of course, not in Scorpius's hearing, but Astoria could read him like a book. The nervous licking of his lips. The smoothing back of his carefully gelled white-blond hair, thinner now but still much cosseted. The anxious tapping of his foot under the table every time the names Potter, Weasley or Granger were aired – as they needs must be in the telling.

Scorpius, on the other hand, despite having heard about the owl's visit three times already, had several new observations to make each time.

"I wish I'd woke up! I wish I..."

"Woken up," Draco corrected automatically.

Scorpius merely grinned at him in the alarmingly laid-back _well-it's-not-that-important-really-is it?_ muggle manner he'd acquired being brought up among muggles. A world away from his own wizarding upbringing, Draco thought, with mixed emotions. An inward sigh for his child's lack of culture and an odd kind of pride that he _was_ so relaxed. For a similar offence, Lucius would have sent the young Draco to the library to manually write out the correct grammar a thousand times as _"purebloods did not make such shocking mistakes."_ (Father was well aware he'd have gotten a house-elf to do it for him, but being disgraced was considered the real punishment anyway.) No, purebloods did not make such shocking mistakes, he reflected. Some, the followers of Voldemort, made far worse. They maimed and tortured and killed. Perhaps the muggle way wasn't so bad after all.

"Dad! _Dad!_ Dad, you're not listening!" He suddenly realised Scorpius was talking to him – Merlin, King Arthur and all the Knights of the Round Table, there was no way Draco would have dared speak to Lucius so; "why don't _we_ get an owl?"

"Because we don't have the money," Astoria replied succinctly, and although Draco shuffled uncomfortably in his chair he lifted the gaze that had lowered at the innocent remark.

She knew how much he still hated having to use expressions like _"can't afford"_ and _"too expensive"_ and _"budgeting."_ They had both been raised in vastly wealthy households, Draco's home almost a palace and he almost a prince, and the fall from fortune was deep and heavy though Astoria had adjusted more easily to their new lifestyle. A Healer could command an excellent salary, especially when he or she reached the top of their profession, but the powers-that-be were determined a Malfoy should never rise above the level of junior Healer, nor did it help matters that a good deal of that salary was still being swallowed by War reparations thanks to some kind of clause Lucius secured in order to keep him out of prison. And Astoria's wages as a kindergarten teacher did not pay very much; muggle jobs never did compared to the silver and gold and galleons of the wizarding world.

Scorpius gave a dramatic sigh for appearance's sake. He had never known riches and was accustomed to their lack of cash and often heard his muggle friends' parents give the same answers to their offspring when they asked for something. His pipe dream of owning an owl was quickly forgotten; he knew it was a long shot to begin with, but, like his friends, Scorpius's philosophy was it was always worth a try.

"I'm gonna tell Boots about the owl!" He announced, suddenly espying the sleek black cat in the garden covertly watching the birds and jumping up from the breakfast table to hurry out and join her there.

The Malfoys did not own a cat but a cat had decided to own them and apparently several other people in the vicinity. Draco treated this unexpected addition to the family with great wariness. Cats could not be trusted. Granger's cat hated him and the feeling was mutual. Crookshanks would strut around Hogwarts as if he owned the school and arch his back and hiss if they happened to meet – which rarely happened after the Moody incident, Draco's sense of self-preservation was too great. He was pretty damn sure Crookshanks was just biding his time, waiting for him to be turned into a ferret again. And Boots shared the same superior attitude, pleasing herself about which house she visited, when and how long she stayed, how much food she ate, when and where she slept or basked in the sun. It reminded him rather too uncomfortably of the bad old days when the Malfoys simply took whatever they wanted.

Usually Boots miaowed loudly or yawned pointedly when anyone interrupted her concentration in the stalking of small creatures as she was busy doing at that moment. But, like everyone else seemed to, she must have kept a special place in her heart for the young wizard, for she always stopped whatever her current occupation to entertain him. Draco watched the pair through the window, Scorpius waving his arms about in an apparent imitation of the owl flying to their home, his face animated, talking nineteen to the dozen. Boots sat curled up silently listening, taking everything in, giving nothing away. Did she know about the ferret transfiguration and was that why she hung around? Astoria always laughed at the idea, but Draco was also pretty damn sure that cat was a Slytherin.

 **See * _The Roses Grow_**


	3. Chapter 3

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Thank you to JeanAndBilius and Guest for reviewing and to both Randomland5980 and Maya Poltergeist for adding this fic to your Faves and Follows. Always lovely to know people are reading and greatly appreciate your taking the time out to comment and/or fave/review.

 **Chapter 3**

 **Watching**

For a few moments, Astoria silently studied her husband's face, her heart swollen with affection and an amused smile tugging at her lips. Draco, unaware _he_ was being so closely observed, in turn sat watching Scorpius with a tender expression of deep, devoted love, alternately switching his gaze to the cat he was convinced was a Slytherin and whom he regarded with narrow-eyed mistrust, and then back to Scorpius, who was favoured with the look only a doting Dad could ever give before poor Boots, blissfully unaware her very presence apparently offended the senses, was given daggers once more. And Tori wondered for the countless time how it was _possible_ for any witch or wizard in the whole of the wizarding world to despise him. As so many still did, years after the War, years after his trial, years after he'd gained his junior Healer licence and earned his living making potions for the sick. Though admittedly Draco himself didn't help matters with the superior Malfoy attitude he absolutely refused to drop, stubbornly insisting to Astoria he took great pride in a great name so why should he? How were those witches and wizards to know that arrogant superiority was a mere façade? How would they ever know if he always hid behind a mask? She only wished they could see him now. Being a father. Being a husband. Being who he was.

The remnants of a muggle style breakfast, a couple of slices of cold toast, an opened jar of marmalade, a crushed carton of fresh orange juice, used plates, used cutlery, all cluttered the small four-seater dining table. A far cry from his Malfoy Manor days, when dish after dish, everything from exotic fruits to truffles to freshly-caught salmon, was brought reverentially to the long banqueting table by dozens of terrified house house-elves scurrying to and fro, frantic to meet their owners' every need and desperate to avoid their wrath.

Nowadays breakfast, sometimes prepared by Astoria, sometimes by Draco, and sometimes together, was, except for more leisurely Sundays when neither had to be at work nor Scorpius at school, simply nourishing and, of necessity, inexpensive: fruit juice, wholemeal toast, honey or marmalade, cold cereal or porridge, yoghurt, eggs cooked in a variety of different ways. But always, always, pride of place in the centre of the table, was the large ceramic teapot covered by an equally large, garish multi-coloured tea-cosy, a knitted gift from an elderly neighbour and which Astoria told her husband they must accept in order to avoid hurting her feelings. Draco, who hated the tea cosy at first sight, and who was still coming slowly to terms with the idea muggles were sensitive, suggested to Astoria they bin it in order to avoid _his_ hurt feelings, but fortunately knew enough by now to realise he should express this opinion when Mrs Thomas was not present to hear it. And he _did_ understand when his wife explained about the elderly widow being lonely and how pleased and proud she would be whenever she saw her gift in use. The Draco of old would have smirked, scoffed and unceremoniously discarded the unwanted item. _This_ Draco listened and he learnt. It was just one of the reasons she loved him.

"You don't mind me agreeing to the invite before talking to you about it, do you?" Astoria at last snatched Draco's attention away from the window scene, pouring them each a second cup of tea that was (thanks to the tea cosy) still scalding hot. It often amused her that her husband preferred tea. With his nervy jitteriness and suspicion all cats were Slytherin he was surely more suited to being a coffee addict and guzzling a dozen or more cups of extra strong coffee per day.

"I was just so thrilled on Scorpius's behalf when I read the message and you weren't due home from your night shift till seven," she added, stretching to place the plain cup and saucer within his reach – move along, move along, no silver and gold goblets to be found here, Draco often remarked to his wife, half in humour, half in nostalgia, if she was pulling cups or glasses out of the kitchen cupboards to make drinks.

The wizard frowned in thought. Of course he didn't mind Tori taking the initiative. They _had_ – rashly, he realised now - promised Scorpius they would visit as soon as an invitation was issued and promised each other there would be no hesitation when it arrived. But he truly believed it never would. Even though Scorpius often spoke of the day they bumped into the Potter and Granger-Weasleys' offspring two weeks ago and he'd struck up an immediate friendship with all, especially Rose, his father was hoping he'd eventually forget all about them. It wasn't that he had any problem with his son making friends. Scorpius always made friends easily. But why did it have to be with _their_ kids?

He swallowed a large gulp of tea and almost burnt his throat. Drat Mrs Thomas and her stupid teapot coat or whatever it was called. Why did a teapot need to wear a coat anyway when a flick of a wand could easily heat tea? Teapots didn't usually make fashion statements and the lurid monstrosity did funny things to his eyes with its shocking array of ultra-brightness. The old girl was loopy as a Luna. Though Lovegood wasn't _too_ bad, Draco acknowledged. Never spat at them or yelled insults the day the Malfoy family walked free after their trial. Among the crowd gathered to express their disgust as they were hurried out of the Ministry she'd been conspicuous as the only one smiling, waving and wishing them luck. Come to think of it, Gladys Thomas wasn't _too_ bad either. She'd bought him a box of delicious muggle chocolates as a thank you after he'd climbed in through a window to open her front door when she'd accidentally locked herself out. At first he was really worried that Mrs Thomas, being a widow, might have set her sights on him as marriageable material and was even more terrified when Astoria said gravely this _was_ probably the case – until his wife put him out of his floor-pacing misery by revealing she was winding him up (she had to further explain, with infinite patience, that it was a common muggle expression and no, some muggles were not born with a key in their back) and they, like witches and wizards, sometimes did nice things for each other. All the same, it was very worrying that he should be developing a slight fondness for muggles although Astoria approved. It was all very well for Tori though. She'd even done Muggle Studies for a while at Hogwarts until her parents found out and removed her from the class.

He sighed deeply. Even after years of living in muggle suburbia a lot of things still weren't easy. Mixing with the wizarding world once again wouldn't be either. Especially mixing with Potters, Weasleys and Grangers. War heroes. Feted people. Rich people.

"Draco?" Astoria slipped from her place at the little kitchen table and to his side, pulling up the nearest dining chair - the rickety one from the set of four, normally only ever used on Sundays, Draco's official day off, when Gladys Thomas would hobble in on her walking stick at 10.00 am precisely to join them for a large, leisurely Sunday breakfast, for then Draco would gallantly offer her his own and take the rickety chair instead – and how _that_ happened, he never knew, not the fact they ate a large, leisurely Sunday breakfast nor Sunday being his official day off, but how he accepted and _expected_ Gladys to join them every Sunday morning and gave up his seat without even thinking about it any more. Did muggles secretly possess some form of primitive magic? But right now he had more pressing concerns on his mind than the mystery of muggles.

"What if they look down on us because we're poor?" The irony was not lost on him. Memories of his pampered, wealthy childhood and how much he'd enjoyed mocking the Weasleys for their impoverishment flooded back. "What if they want to get their revenge?"

"They won't. They're better people than that. You know it." Astoria stroked soothing circles on the back of his hand and her husband stopped nervously drumming his long, thin fingers - long, thin fingers meant he'd make an excellent pianist, Mrs Thomas told him once in one of those baffling statements muggles were prone to quoting - to clasp her small hand and breathe in her intoxicating scent. The rose perfume she wore, a spell of her own creation using rain-soaked mixed petals from their own roses, always comforted him. There was, too, something warm and soothing about their little detached muggle house, with its rose bushes and apple tree planted when it was very first built, with its sunlight smiling in through the front windows by morning and the back windows by afternoon, with its family of birds that lived cosily under its eaves and whistled and fluttered and even thudded when the early sun came to call.

Quick potions weren't often needed at night, as most were already brewed and stored, which was why Potions medics were rarely required to work late, but the Lab at St Mungo's had been unusually busy. His head felt heavy and he rested it on something soft, his eyelids fluttering closed. He wasn't as confident as Tori about the Gryffindor lot forgiving and forgetting. It was extremely pleasant being rich and not much fun being poor. He'd have been very tempted to give them all a hard time if the boot were on the other foot. Boot. Boots! Draco's eyes flew open and - thankful he didn't need to move his head to do so - he checked out the window. Scorpius was still chatting while scratching the sleek black cat under the chin and Boots was still drinking it all in while looking smug. Apparently some muggles believed black cats brought them good luck and others believed they brought bad luck. Some thought the black cat had to run across their path in order for them to claim their luck quota and others thought having one run across their path bagged them a whole series of ill fortune. Some had no opinions whatsoever on the subject. Muggles were very confusing. Maybe hexed by black cats? And just what exactly was this bloody black cat so keen to know about anyway? Draco had his suspicions of course.

"Definitely ferrets. Definitely Slytherin," he mumbled sleepily.

Astoria laughed, gently pushing his head off her shoulder. "Definitely bed. Definitely sleep. Won't make a very good impression on Hermione and Ron if you're yawning."

"It'll be fine," she added as, abruptly recollecting the invitation, he sat bolt upright staring at her anxiously albeit still half asleep. Tori thought it best not to mention her own doubts and how she could only hope and pray it _would._


	4. Chapter 4

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks to JeanandBilius, Maya Poltergeist and Guest for your lovely reviews of Chapter 3; to Arlequinn for adding this fic to Alerts; to HarveyCheyne and JeanandBilius for adding me to Author Alert and especially to Malfoy4Lyfe for adding me to Author Alerts and your encouraging words re my other fic Name Games, which I hope to update very soon. If I've missed anyone out, please let me know and I'll add you to my thanks next update. As 23 people have put me on Author Alert and 28 on Fave Author it's sometimes hard to keep track, which I guess is a nice problem to have! :D Very much appreciated. :)))

 **Chapter 4**

 **Domestic**

"I can't believe we're actually inviting that git here!" Ron Weasley grumbled, for the umpteenth time since he'd got up that morning, crashing the breakfast dishes down so hard that a dinner plate cracked in three places.

"Ron," Hermione reprimanded mildly although her gaze was stern.

Her husband sighed deeply and dutifully fetched his wand. "Reparo!" He ordered, rolling his eyes as though doing the dish a great favour. Despite the accompanying eye-roll, the plate nonetheless took no offence and obligingly put itself back together. He sighed again, feeling very hard done by. Hermione insisted that doing some household chores without magic was not only relaxing but kept wizards and witches "grounded". Ron couldn't see the appeal himself but Hermione could be pretty persuasive. Besides he did love her. In his own way. He even loved some of her crazy ideas. But not all. And Hermione flatly refused to have house elves working for them so, unless they hired a muggle housekeeper – difficult, with so much magic floating around, the magical and muggle world would definitely collide and then there'd be hell to pay with the Ministry – they had no choice but to do certain tasks manually. Even the kids were on a rota to do chores.

Rose and Hugo were on "dish duty" at least twice a week, for instance, which resulted in more dishes being broken than washed and dried, and both children frequently forgetting all about the dishes in their enthusiasm to climb on stools to reach the sink and play blowing bubbles in the soapy water. But Hermione was undaunted. A reparo soon fixed the first problem, she said, and as for the last a scourgifying charm soon mopped up the overspill and dried the miscreants. It did them good to learn not everything in life should be done for them with magic.

"I doubt Scorpius Malfoy has to do chores. Unlike our own kids sweeping up the leaves," Ron mused, glancing out of the kitchen window into the garden where Rose and Hugo were doing just that. Allegedly. It was true they were each armed with a sweeping brush and it was true the garden abounded with wind blown leaves, but there the similarity ended. Not a single leaf had been cleared and the wooden box provided for their collection remained in pristine condition. Instead the Granger-Weasley offspring were busy brushing leaves at each other in what was obviously some kind of serious competitive sport that might or might not make the Olympics in years to come. The extra chore of "Sweeping up the Leaves" was part of the deal for allowing their new friend Scorpius to come over, but as that particular event looked extremely unlikely to happen and Scorpius was coming over anyway it all seemed a pointless exercise. "I reckon he'll be spoilt rotten like his father," he added knowingly.

Ron and Hermione were determined Rose and Hugo wouldn't grow up believing they were better than everyone else. It would be an easy trap to fall into. Like Harry and Ginny, the Weasleys were feted as war heroes wherever they went and they'd all agreed the last thing they wanted was for their kids to have delusions of grandeur a la Draco Malfoy. It was extremely tiresome having to constantly explain to the likes of restaurateurs and shop owners that they really didn't need or want special treatment and still the general wizarding public hadn't quite grasped it. The hundreds of free samples of luxury goods, the latest broomsticks or most elegant robes _"to say thank you for defeating Voldemort"_ which they received on an almost daily basis were quickly sent on to be redistributed among poor wizarding families who had lost houses, possessions, even family, during the War.

Of course Rose and Hugo couldn't have failed to noticed the crowds that gathered, applauding and cheering, when they were out with their parents or Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny. When they were five, Rose and her cousin Albus _had_ for a short while (a _very_ short while) walked with noses in air and eyes half closed to pointedly ignore the "commoners" when Albus's older brother James told them they were secretly Wizarding Royalty and were _expected_ to. The ruse was quickly discovered however because Rose and Albus kept bumping into mystified fans and for punishment James was banned from playing the popular wizarding game of magic-travel. Fortunately, these days, tricks and jokes aside at home, James did at least behave himself when they were out and about in public. And despite the fabulous wealth that the ex-war heroes enjoyed thanks to their Auror salaries and Ginny's astronomical wages as a top Quidditch star, the three little Potters, just like Rose and Hugo, also had chores to keep them grounded and were most definitely not allowed to perform under-age magic in order to do them.

"Maybe Ferret Face and Ferret-Face Family won't turn up," Ron continued hopefully, swishing another greasy dish round in the washing-up bowl.

"No nicknames," Hermione warned, returning an unwashed knife, and grinning as Ron reluctantly plunged it back into the hot water. "We're the grown-ups here. Anyway, Scorpius seemed a nice enough kid when we met."

"We only saw him for five minutes." Ron sighed, though whether at the thought of Scorpius Malfoy or the grease-smeared knife was anybody's guess. "He's probably every bit as manipulative as his father."

Hermione slapped his arm, splashing water everywhere. "He's a _kid_ , Ron."

"Hmmph. All kids know how to twist adults round their little finger." Ron spoke from experience. He was a pushover where Rose and Hugo were concerned.

"Which again proves he's just a kid."

But for all her bravado, Hermione was dreading coming face-to-face with Draco Malfoy again. It had been bad enough that they'd all accidentally met in the wizarding cemetery while visiting Fred's grave. The few moments spent talking with Malfoy and his wife, while the kids ran happily round with _Scorpius Malfoy_ of all the little witches and wizards in the magical world they could have chosen to run round with, had been surreal. Since then Rose, aided and abetted by Hugo, who was going through a phase of adoring his big sister (he also went through phases when he regarded her as public enemy number one and they had a history of fights to prove it) kept on asking when their parents were going to keep their promise and invite Scorpius over.

Even the kids' pet owl was so sick of hearing the name that he'd taken to flying out to sit in the tree branch as soon as Rose began to utter "Scorpi..." though Trimblefeathers usually preferred to follow the pair around on his favourite perch of Rose's shoulder.

It had been such an extraordinary stroke of bad luck that they'd bumped into each other that day. If Hermione believed in superstition, she might have been convinced that a black cat crossed her path – no, wait, wasn't that meant to be _lucky?_ She'd have to ask her friend Luna next time they floo-called each other; Luna was very big on signs and omens. One thing was certain however. The Malfoys had accepted the invitation (forwarded under duress; Hermione and Ron had been hoping either their children would forget all about it or the request for the Malfoys' company would be politely declined) and would be here this very afternoon.

And if Draco Malfoy dared to put a foot out of line she'd bat bogey hex him ten times worse than Ginny ever did.

 **XXXXX**

Grim-faced, Harry and Ginny arrived at the Granger-Weasley residence at precisely two o'clock. Wearing expressions of pure glee, James, Albus and Lily arrived at precisely five minutes before two. The family had of course apparated together, landing at their usual spot of beneath the spreading branches of the nearby chestnut tree, but the Potter kids raced eagerly ahead.

So great was their apparent joy that if the double doors hadn't already been flung wide open to welcome the guests and the sunshine, they might well have burst it down in a manner to rival the Storming of the Bastille. As it was, Rose and Hugo running just as excitedly from the opposite direction created a minor crash, in which Hugo and Lily head-butted, Rose and Albus somehow tripped over each other's feet, both landing butt first, and James, who'd managed to dodge everyone with skilful Quidditch type manoeuvres, was bent double with helpless laughter. The four adults quickly whipped out wands to fix cuts, bruises and tears.

"Malfoy's not even here yet and look at all the trouble he's caused!" Harry grumbled as they worked, Ron murmuring his assent.

Ginny shook her head and tsked. "Don't be childish, Harry. I'm hardly Draco Malfoy's greatest fan, but even he can't be blamed for something that happens when he's not even present!"

"Exactly, Ginny," Hermione agreed. "I've been telling Ron all day that we're adults now and need to act like it. Honestly, guys..." She looked daggers at her husband and friend; "if all the people who hail you as war heroes could only hear you both now! You sound more whiny than Malfoy ever was."

Harry and Ron h'mmphed, hummed and hawed and then consoled themselves by heading for the firewhiskey. Meanwhile, the kids, wand-healed of their injuries and now being fighting fit, the noise level quickly reached fever pitch, their voices breaking every sound barrier known to wizarding kind. Even Trimblefeathers was flitting quickly in and out, hooting non-stop as though he had heaps to tell everyone and needed to tell it immediately.

"For Merlin's sake, I can't hear myself think! Out, out!" Hermione shoo-ed, and, whether they were meant to exit with the children or not, Harry and Ron, clutching firewhiskey and snacks, hurried into the grounds with the general rabble, Trimblefeathers leading the way.

"Peace at last!" Ginny breathed, nodding her thanks as her friend poured them each a generous glass of Fruits of the Forbidden Forest wine. "Do you think having the Malfoys over will go okay?"

"It'll be fine," Hermione unwittingly echoed Astoria's words. With exactly the same reservations.


	5. Chapter 5

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Thanks to JeanandBilius, Maya Poltergeist, Ybs, brookeyhoneybee and both Guests for your lovely Reviews of Chapter 4; to brookeyhoneybee for adding this fic to Faves; to MisteeSky and TheRedPrincess for adding this fic to Story Alert and most especially to sandwich queen for not only adding Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall to Fave Fic and Story Alert, but also for adding me to Author Alert and Fave Author. Also to VanillaCupcakes123 for adding my completed prequel to this fic, The Perfume of the Roses, to Fave Stories. You guys are the greatest! :))) And not forgetting thanks to JKR for her incredible imagination in creating the Harry Potter universe in the first place, and without whom none of us would be here! :D This story is AU.

 **Chapter 5**

 **Time**

At the bottom of the garden, well hidden by the abundant branches of the apple tree and a temporary No-Muggle-See Charm just to be sure, the Malfoy family were gathered in a small circle of three holding hands. Ready to apparate. Almost _._ Draco smiled fondly down at Scorpius who was jumping up and down in excitement. They couldn't apparate until he stopped but little wizards _will_ be little wizards, he remarked proudly to his wife. Besides it delayed the apparition process, which suited Draco extremely well indeed. Delaying the apparition process could mean, he thought optimistically, _they mightn't have to go at all._

Quite what our Mr Malfoy expected to happen in the space of the next few minutes that would cancel out the journey, I really cannot fathom – owl notification of an immediate ban on apparating, perhaps, or the arrival of a sudden tornado which would tear away the trees and reveal their secret apparating spot, or for his wife to suddenly remember they had a far more urgent appointment. Astoria of course strongly suspected the real reason and, should she have harboured any lingering doubts, Draco was about to quickly dispel them.

"Wait!" He cried urgently. "We don't have the invitation!"

"I'll get it, Dad!" Scorpius stopped jumping and obligingly ran to fetch the magical card.

"Draco, procrastination isn't going to get us anywhere." Astoria sighed when he arched a smug eyebrow at the irony of her statement. "You know perfectly well what I mean and you know perfectly well we don't need any invitation." She ignored his lapse into regal Malfoyness. It happened sometimes despite his best efforts. "I think I can safely predict they'll know who we are."

"Ah, but what if they've invited hundreds of people. Tori?" Draco lost his Malfoy cool and swallowed as he pictured the scenario he'd just accidentally terrified himself with. "What if there's a security Auror on the door and he or she won't let us..." His expression brightened as the first picture was replaced with a newer, much more pleasant, image of being turned away.

"We promised Scorpius," Astoria reminded him gently. "We can't let him down."

The pale wizard of the white-blond hair and fading Dark Mark nodded and swallowed again. He would do anything for his wife and son. Anything. Though he never imagined one of those anythings would include socialising with Granger, Potter and Weasley.

He was only thankful Scorpius was so brimming over with happiness that he didn't notice his father's anxiety. For Scorpius, this was an exciting play date. For Astoria, a wonderful opportunity to chat and perhaps even bond with other witches after a decade of being blanked by the magical world and, after her marriage to Draco and move to muggle suburbia, even her own family.

For himself it was a waking nightmare. He didn't want to meet up with people he had always scorned as being poor and inferior, who were now doing very nicely thank you and financially much better off than he was. He didn't want to remember the dark days of War and how they, embarrassingly, had saved his life. The brief unexpected meeting in the graveyard had been ordeal enough. He had hoped against hope Scorpius would simply forget all about Rose Weasley, but Scorpius had done nothing but remember Rose Weasley. But, much as he dreaded this forthcoming visit, like a true Malfoy he looked the epitome of cool, calm and collected.

His hair was gelled to immovable perfection and over a sober black suit and Slytherin tie he wore his best dark green robes. (Astoria hinted perhaps he should try and look less formal and leave the tie behind, the dark green robes open at the neck and fold back the sleeves just a little, but Draco was aghast at the suggestions; he had the Malfoy reputation to uphold!) Tucked away in the potions department of St Mungo's – very few patients ever wished to consult a Malfoy – the years of steam from bubbling cauldrons and stubborn stains from crushed herbs had long taken their toll and the robes were somewhat worn at the cuffs and frayed at the hem (scourgifying charms, as he'd discovered, lost their effectiveness when used over and over again) but if he didn't raise his arms and was careful about how he walked he could get away with it. Besides the robes hid exactly how sorry-looking his best suit had become after being worn so often - fortunately, he had not gained any more weight since its purchase over ten years ago - and, as with the robes, magic could only achieve so much. There was no chance of a new suit or new robes. Every spare knut went on their child and into the Hogwarts' Fund for Scorpius. Who had reluctantly worn sedate matching green robes to please his father but baulked at the idea of a miniature matching suit and sensible shiny shoes and insisted on jeans, trainers and T-shirt beneath them.

Astoria, as always, looked stunning. How she could manage to look both sleekly elegant and laid-back casual in old robes she'd owned for years, even allowing for the fact Tori wore muggle attire for her work with miniature muggles and took more care of her clothes than he did, was a mystery. Magic just couldn't account for it. Not wizarding magic anyway.

Decorated with a single silver hair-slide, her long, sleek black locks a perfect contrast to her lime green robes – Tori had never been keen on the darker green of Slytherin - tumbled loosely over her shoulders. Small silver ear-rings, bangles and brooch sparkled in the spring sunlight and, unless they ran a wand over the jewellery to check its authenticity, nobody would ever guess the actual value of each was no more than a couple of galleons. Moreover usually robes were loose and unflattering, but somehow Tori's robes. teamed with a lime green cloak fastened with the silver brooch, complemented her slim figure, maybe because of the silver belt looped jauntily around her waist. Or maybe it was simply because Tori was naturally beautiful. Despite his nerves, he couldn't help but smile.

"That's better," his wife whispered in his ear, as they heard Scorpius thudding down the stairs on his way back outside. "First _real_ smile today." Which made him smile his genuine smile a little wider. Of course there had been smiles. Heaps of them, for Scorpius's sake. Like if he pretended to be looking forward to the visit as much as Scorpius was he just _might_ be able to fool himself.

"Can't help it. You're beautiful," he whispered back. And wonderful and kind and amazing and forgiving and brave, he might have added, if there had been time. How Astoria ever got sorted into Slytherin back at Hogwarts, he would never know. Although the Sorting Hat took preferences into account and Sir Walquint and Lady Amethelia Greengrass would have demanded a re-Sort if their youngest daughter had broken the long-standing Greengrass tradition of Slytherin. But, much as he hated to admit it, she was Gryffindor through and through. While he'd always mocked the Lions as bleeding heart losers and been too cowardly to challenge anyone without Crabbe and Goyle by his side to fight his blood-prejudiced battles, she'd always bucked the Slytherin trend and would happily have made friends with muggleborns and half-bloods except her older sister Daphne dragged her away in horror whenever she caught her chatting with any.

And look where it got them.

With a child who didn't give a damn about blood purity or who was allowed to own magic or if muggleborns were being educated at wizarding schools. It never failed to give Draco a glow of pride to know they'd raised Scorpius to be a much kinder and more tolerant Malfoy than he had been in his own youth. And of course he wanted him to have the genuine friendships he'd been too busy being a spoilt brat to know as a child. He just hadn't reckoned on Scorpius choosing to be friends with the offspring of Potters, Weasleys and Grangers! And while Draco may have grown up to be a better person than he once was, not every aspect of his personality had changed. He still wasn't brave like Astoria. Given half a chance he'd hide in the kitchen cupboard and come out when his wife and son were all done visiting the lion's den.

What was he supposed to talk about when he got there? He'd confided his worries to Tori that morning while Scorp was out of earshot. Did he thank them for saving his life? Reminisce about how he'd bullied them all through their schooldays? Re-tell the tale of how he'd brought Death Eaters into Hogwarts? Astoria said he should just be himself. Ha! Easier said than done. They hated him, remember? No, they didn't. she argued. Did _he_ still hate them? The question caught him off guard and he paused to think it over. _Did_ he still hate Pottyhead, Mad Hair Granger, the Weasel Wonder and Batty Bogey Weaselette? Hate was a strong word. Voldemort had hated. People died because of hatred. "Well, I'm not exactly _fond_ of them.." he began, but already Astoria looked smug. She'd won. He couldn't go back and change his answer when he'd already more or less admitted no, he didn't. Even if he hadn't spoken, his hesitation alone was enough to prove it.

"So if you no longer hate Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny...?" She grinned. Devious witch. Must have been the rogue Slytherin trait that helped her slip through the net when she was true Gryffindor.

"People don't forget, Draco, but they do move on," she reminded him.

So there you had it. There was no way he could get out of going – and voluntarily, for Merlin's sake! - to be all pallsy-wallsy with his worst enemies. Except he wasn't quite sure they were his worst enemies any more. This was what bloody well happened when you fell in love and then had a kid together and you loved your kid. Confusion reigned.

"Found it, Dad!" Looking extremely pleased with himself, Scorpius popped the unnecessary invite (the perforated RSVP had already been forwarded via Trimblefeathers that very morning) into his father's robe pocket. "Boots thinks it's dead cool, us going to see Rose and the gang. I could tell."

"Boots?" Draco frowned. That damn Slytherin cat knew far too much already. "Boots was _in the house?"_ Prowling, no doubt. Searching for something to blackmail him with. Well, she wouldn't find anything. He'd kept his nose clean since The Battle of Hogwarts.

"Nah. She was on the shed. I waved it from the window. She likes watching the gold sparks from the magic writing. So do I."

So. Boots was spying on them from the garden shed. Looking for evidence and...

"Draco," Astoria rebuked, amused. Sometimes he could swear she read his mind. If his wife hadn't been such a hopeless Slytherin, deviousness aside, she might have been proficient in Legilemency. Thought it did help being such a hopeless Slytherin himself these strange days he was so easy to read.

"Let's go then!" He said brightly in answer to Astoria's encouraging nod, returning Scorpius's wide grin as he reached a hand out to each. His grip as tight and sure on his son's as Scorpius's was on his father's.

Because Astoria held the hand that was trembling.


	6. Chapter 6

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:** **

_Thanks to_ :-

 **JeanandBilius** and both **Guests** for your brilliant reviews for Chapter 5

 **Bellsluv** for adding this fic to Favourites and Alerts and adding me to Favourite Author and Story Alert

 **Landser03** for adding this fic to Favourites and Alerts

 **MaxineCrazy** for adding this fic to Favourites and Alerts

 **Blinck22** for adding this fic to Favourites

Thanks to **MaxineCrazy** for adding the original fic in this trilogy, _The Roses Grow_ , to your Fave Stories.

Thanks to **Landser03 MaxineCrazy P4ranoia YexiangYuyi** for adding prequel to this fic, _The Perfume of the Roses_ , to your Fave Stories

Greatly appreciate you guys taking time out to review, fave and alert. :))) This story is AU.

 _ps If anybody's not read it yet, just want to recommend Exile by bennybear. The author doesn't update very often so I think it get missed a lot, and though it doesn't go for traditional pairings, it's a fascinating account of Draco's PTSD and his life after the Battle of Hogwarts. Very, very different._

 **Chapter 6**

 **Guests**

Perhaps it was Draco's conflicting emotions. Perhaps it was Scorpius's over-excitement. Perhaps it was Astoria's anxiety for all being well. We will never know. Whatever the reason the apparition journey did not go as smoothly as it should and so...No. I'll be honest with you. The journey was a disaster. A crash and burn, unmitigated, irrevocable – even spectacular - disaster.

Accompanied by a fanfare of screeching, roaring, thundering aeroplane take-off and landing sound effects, the guests arrived in a crazy vortex of spinning, bumping and thudding and immediately split up to make their dramatic, if somewhat impolite, entrance and liven up the party. The Weasley-Granger house shook so hard that Ginny clean forgot she was a talented witch capable of a multitude of complicated spells and clung on for dear life to the heavy oak table she sat at in an attempt to keep herself earthbound. As if conjuring tricks were being performed by some invisible entertainer, plates and glasses jumped up and down, returning to their original places minus their contents. Books, food, even lighter items of furniture flew in all directions, some gently orbiting space while others entered into the spirit of dance, and ignoring the gentle classical music being played in the background (and barely heard above the busy airport din) furiously whizzed, bobbed and dived – and, yes, Reader, I strongly suspect even head-banged.

Scorpius sat in a heap on the rocking floor, feeling as though he'd just alighted from a muggle fairground ride, sick, dizzy and delighted. "That was great!" he spluttered in breathless awe. "Can we do it again?"

Astoria landed immediately in front of Hermione who, both arms outstretched and wand enchanted with a spell to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground, stumbled two or three steps backwards on the moving floor. Astoria smiled sweetly, swayed, surged four or five steps forward and trod on her hostess's toes. Many of the Malfoys' disgruntled critics after their trial complained the notorious family fell on their feet. And so Draco, appropriately enough, fell on his feet – except just then the floor decided to behave like an undulating Chinese dragon celebrating Chinese New Year, propelling him hurriedly forward to slap Ginny on their back as though in familiar greeting, causing her to tip her glass of wine unceremoniously over her lap.

"Wow!" The children had raced inside the newly-settled-down house (perhaps the apparition spell had worn off or perhaps the house had simply exhausted itself with the effort required of holding its very first rave) to view the excitement for themselves and Rose stared at the chaos in open admiration. "We _never_ get to apparate like that! Scorp, your Mum and Dad are sooo cool."

"It was wicked!" Scorpius agreed, picking himself up, wriggling down his crumpled robes and looking hugely impressed when he saw the back was smeared with chocolate cake.

The aeroplane roaring had died, but noise levels quickly threatened to return to fever pitch once more. Scorpius and Rose, for reasons best known to themselves, chose to conduct their conversation comparing notes about previous apparating experiences by shouting across the room to each other at the top of their voices. Albus and Lily were screaming in horrified delight, clinging to each other and half dodging, half deliberately stepping into whatever they could manage to, cheering and squealing in pure joy when they finally succeeded in dance-marching together in a large upside-down trifle.

"This is the best party EVER!" James had lately stumbled upon a box of ChewLoud Chews (which amplified children's voices to their great joy and parents' great despair) in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and his approving words boomed and echoed around the walls - which had, and still have, my greatest sympathy, for surely they had taken enough battering for one day. "Auntie Hermione! _Auntie Hermione!_ If we all apparated in and out again like..."

"Kids, OUT!" Hermione roared for the second time that afternoon, deciding clothes scourgifying charms could wait for a while, and the little ones, Scorpius in their midst, noisily obeyed, laughing and chattering like wackywumpfs emerging from the ocean (readers of a curious nature who may wish to know more are directed to Chapter 3, page 52, Theory of Magical Sea Creatures in Evolution by Luna Lovegood and Rolf Scamander).

"We'll pay for any damage!" Astoria offered apologetically, beating a hasty retreat from Hermione's toes now that the house allowed her to do so.

"No, we won't. We..." Draco stopped himself just in time from saying they couldn't possibly afford it.

"Way to go, Malfoy!" Ron said sarcastically. He and Harry stood in the doorway with their bottles of firewhiskey, surveying the scene of destruction and glaring at the pale blond wizard. "Thought you might have grown up by now, but, no, you still feel you've got to score points."

"It was..." Again Draco stopped himself from saying any more. "An accident" did not fit in with the time-honoured Malfoy perfection. He was no more going to admit to being off course with his apparating skills than agree with Loony Lovegood's theory that invisible purple, dust-eating creatures with three green eyes lived behind the skirting boards in all magical houses (page 117, Chapter 10, same book as above; this author hopes curious readers will quickly return and stop being so easily distracted).

"...Time we arrived here," he finished in his usual arrogant tones, managing to make "here" sound like a disgusting hovel and ignorantly blanking everyone while he huffed and waved his wand over the front of his robes where some of the wine had splashed, secretly thanking Merlin that it hadn't been on the over-scourgified cuffs or hem.

Ron snorted. "Well, maybe it's _time_ you went home again, jerk."

"Ron, maybe it's _time_ you grew up. Insulting our guests with ridiculous accusations is not exactly mature behaviour," Hermione chided, although she wasn't entirely convinced of Draco Malfoy's innocence either.

"Neither is insulting your husband," Ron fired back, stung.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Even Astoria, mortified, was momentarily at a loss for words.

"We are so, so sorry," she breathed at last. "About the chaos, about knocking over the wine..." She glanced at Draco, hoping he'd calmed down enough to apologise too, but his face was like thunder. Astoria sighed inwardly. She knew the persona he gave out to the world wasn't the real him but she was the only one in the room who did. Even Draco still fondly imagined he believed he was superior to everyone else. But his wife knew the truth. She was the one who'd held the trembling hand.

"Accidents happen." Ginny's tone however was clipped and she was most certainly not smiling as she dried herself.

Peacemaker of the Wizarding World was the latest in a long line of titles being bandied about by the wizarding press in their frequent hero-worship filler articles about The Boy Who Lived and Harry suddenly felt he ought to live up to it.

"Let's start again," he said, putting down the bottle of firewhiskey to thrust his hand in Draco's direction.

The would-be recipient started aghast. If he accepted the handshake (ye Gods, how ironic was it to think that the younger, billion times wealthier Draco would have jumped at this chance!) the frayed, worn cuffs of his robes would be visible to all. He got away with it at the hospital because most people assumed his sleeves had been dipping into potions all day long but that wouldn't pass as an excuse here. Better watch nobody saw the frayed hems either. He held himself even more upright and kept his arms resolutely by his side.

Harry grimaced. What was the point of trying to be civil with Malfoy? He was arrogant as ever. If it hadn't been for his wife being pregnant – Ginny had noticed the bump when they met unexpectedly at the cemetery and whispered her suspicions to the others – he might well have lost patience and suggested they all give up and go home. And then he realised he still didn't know her name. So Harry, being Harry, played it by ear. He withdrew his hand and deliberately picked up the firewhiskey again. No doubt Malfoy's wife would be a snob too so definitely no handshakes there. No point in pushing it and creating even more of an atmosphere, he decided, congratulating himself on his forethought.

"Good to see you again, Amanda," he greeted with forced joviality. The look in her eyes spoke a thousand words. Damn! So it wasn't Amanda. He could've sworn it was. "Um...Antonia? ...Aleysha...?" He blithely continued, oblivious to Ginny's and Hermione's horrified expressions.

"Annabella?" Ron could see Harry was up the creek without a paddle and waded in to help out a mate. Malfoy's wife had been so quiet at Hogwarts that he barely remembered her being there, but he did recollect Harry confiding in him he was convinced her name began and ended with "A". "Anastasia?"

Astoria froze. This had to be a sick joke. Not only could he not be bothered shaking hands but he hadn't bothered to learn her name either. Come to think of it, nobody had. The invitation she had been so excited about was merely addressed to Mr and Mrs Malfoy and Family. In fact, it had all been very formal: _Mrs and Mrs Granger-Weasley and Family request the presence of Mr and Mrs Malfoy and Family with Mr and Mrs Potter and Family..._

They should never have come. It was obvious their hosts didn't want them here. The stilted conversation the fateful day they'd met, the promise, the invitation - it had all been done for the sake of appearances! They'd been _banking_ on them saying no. Then they could brag smugly to their friends, well, we did our best with the Malfoys, extended an olive branch, asked them over, but they didn't want to know, out and out refused...

Astoria had always hoped one day the Malfoys would mend bridges with the wizarding world and be accepted, but now she realised it was a forlorn hope. They were outcasts. They always would be.


	7. Chapter 7

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:****

 _ _Thanks to__ :-

 **AlitaMae** for your lovely review of Chapter 6 and also for adding this fic as well as prequels _The Perfume of the Roses_ and _The Roses Grow_ to your Faves.

 ** **JeanandBilius**** and ****Guest**** for your great reviews of Chapter 6.

 **DoctorWhoGirl14 Tomatensauce buford12** for adding this fic to Alerts.

Thanks, guys! It means a lot. :))) This chapter is a little more serious, but don't worry, the kids will return...eventually...to cause havoc ;D This story is AU.

 **Chapter 7**

 **Gone**

Hermione and Ginny looked on in morbid fascination as the nightmare played out. They had, foolishly in retrospect, thought Ron and Harry quite capable of making small talk with their guests while they busied themselves casting spells to accio the mess the (thoroughly) shaken house had created and into a large cauldron that could then be accio'd to a nearby wizard known to keep a dozen greedalls as pets (greedalls, for those of you who have never seen one, are six-legged, two-tailed wizarding creatures, a cross between a cat and a dog, who can and will eat anything digestible without any ill effects). Malfoy infuriated them with his arrogant airs and rudeness. His wife didn't seem _too_ bad – though about the only thing either could remember about Astoria Malfoy _nee_ Greengrass from her time at Hogwarts was that she was remarkable only for being the quietest Slytherin that Slytherin House had ever known, which meant maybe there was hope - then again she _had_ married Draco Malfoy...

While their respective husbands seemed to be attempting to pour oil on troubled waters the two war heroines decided it was a golden opportunity to deflect the conversation and transfer their attention to something energetic enough to calm down their rising tempers before they, at best, hexed, and, at worst, killed The Ferret. Surely it wouldn't be too difficult for Ron and Harry to find common ground with Malfoy and discuss Quidditch or how the years had flown by or how well the kids got on? They had agreed on the plan currently in operation – *cough* _allegedly_ in operation - merely by exchanging a silent but meaningful look. Years together at Hogwarts and fighting a war side by side against Voldemort and his followers had made Hermione and Ginny closer than sisters and almost able to read each other's minds.

Harry's "Let's start again" after the niggling quarrel sounded promising. While she naïvely imagined polite, if awkward, chit-chat between Ron, Harry and the Malfoys would quickly ensue, Hermione began concentrating on working out whether or not there would still be enough undamaged food and drink left to go round – she could make what _was_ there larger but she couldn't produce more food and drink out of thin air, as anybody who ever studied Gamp's Five Principle Exceptions to Elemental Law of Transfiguration will know.

She had of course, as ever, done her homework thoroughly. At school the brightest witch of her age couldn't recollect ever speaking to Astoria Greengrass, who always seemed to be in the shadow of her older sister, the much louder and very obnoxious Daphne, but she'd read up on the Greengrasses. Apparently, being of traditional pureblood stock, they were as formal as the Malfoy family. No doubt, like Malfoy, Astoria would therefore prefer a formal address. And so the invitation, loftily requesting the company of Mr and Mrs Malfoy with Mr and Mrs Granger-Weasley and Mr and Mrs Potter was duly issued. Naturally Hermione assumed Ron and Harry knew her Christian name. Because if they didn't they would've asked. Wouldn't they?

Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine Harry and Ron, valiant warriors in battle and throwbacks to Neanderthal wizards where social graces were concerned, would actually be moronic enough to stand there trying to take a stab in the dark as to what their guest's name was, instead of finding out before she arrived or at least apologising profusely and admitting to it "slipping their mind".

Ginny's wand, in the middle of conducting an accio spell transferring lemon and honey chicken into the cauldron, almost crashed out of her hand in disbelief. Hermione's breath was stolen and she needed a moment to regain it. But before she could, Draco spoke first.

"I've had enough of this goddamn fiasco," he declared, blazing with anger at the way his wife had been treated. Fine if four gormless Gryffindors with delusions of grandeur - in Draco's opinion they got far too much glory; the Ministry was even talking of introducing an annual Hogwarts Heroes medal for students who provided _"outstanding service to wizardkind"_ for Merlin's sake! - wanted to act like jumped-up jerks with him, he could give as good as he got and he'd enjoy dishing it back. But Astoria deserved respect. She'd done nothing to provoke anyone, quite the opposite. Made excuses for them, tried to bring everyone together, been keen for Scorpius to meet up with their brats. And it was the latter that caused him to hesitate. They both wanted what was best for their son and sadly Scorpius would lose out if they cut ties now. Yet what else could they do in such a hostile atmosphere?

"Perhaps we should fetch Scorpius and leave?" He wrapped his arm around Astoria's waist both to reassure and because it was safer; if he gently laid his hand on her elbow as pureblood decorum dictated not only would it lack the same measure of comfort, but someone might espy the zig-zag patterns of several scuffed marks at the end of the sleeves.

"I think that might be wise," Astoria agreed stiffly.

"Please don't..." Hermione began, furious with Ron and Harry for their insensitivity. She made to touch Astoria's shoulder, but the slighted witch deliberately turned her head away. Astoria was blessed with an extraordinary amount of patience, but she had her pride. If their parents behaved this way, it wouldn't be long before the kids followed and rejected Scorpius. The Malfoys may be despised, but they needed no-one. They had made their own lives in the little muggle house with the pink, red, yellow and white roses and the apple tree and the family of birds nesting under the eaves.

"Good riddance!" Ron muttered churlishly.

"Ron, you're not helping." Ginny didn't protest too strongly however. They never had been and never were going to be best buddies with Draco Malfoy. Anyway, events had spiralled out of control now. Maybe it _would_ be best if they called it a day.

Picking up on Ginny's lack of enthusiasm, relieved she obviously wasn't going to suggest he entreat their guests to stay, Harry did what he always did best at times like this. Stood on the sidelines, pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled weakly as if none of it had anything to do with him.

"Oh, for goodness sake, guys!" Hermione alone was determined to make an effort. "Look, the kids want to be friends. We shouldn't let our old hostilities get in the way of that. I think we should at least..."

But nobody ever found out what Hermione thought they should at least. For from somewhere outside, a shrill, piercing scream rent the air. And, alert as if the Dark Lord had risen from the grave, they moved swiftly then. All save Astoria, immediately raised their wands – although Draco, still conscious of his worn robes, had presence of mind enough to tuck back the sleeve of his wand-wielding hand as if meaning business, and with his other worn sleeve hidden around his wife's waist, kept his wits about him still and hastened guardedly to prevent the badly frayed hem from being seen.

They stood there, the six witches and wizards, in heavy, ominous silence, and five in battle stance.

The garden was empty. The earlier laughter and chatter of the children but a memory now. Rain pattered down lightly in small silver drops. Trimblefeathers, Rose and Hugo's owl, screeched and flew agitatedly through the cluster of trees, from branch to branch to branch, shaking more leaves down in his wake to join the many fallen before.

They called out their names but no-one answered. They cast their spells but they cast in vain. There was no charm to make people appear.

"Scorpius!" Draco roared, his voice hoarse from shouting. Beside him he felt Astoria shake as he too had once shaken in fear. He knew she hated fighting, arguments, and worse...They had lived through a terrible War and War and death must never come again. But if anything had happened to their son through this misguided visit, he would hold Potter, Granger and the Weasleys accountable and could not, would not, be responsible for his actions...


	8. Chapter 8

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:-**** **Oops, this chapter got rather long! :D**

 _ _Thanks to__ :-

 **AlitaMae**

 **both Guests**

 **JeanandBilius**

for your very flattering reviews of Chapter 7. :)))

 _Thanks also to:_ -

 **AMBERJANUS**

 **OkieDokieLoki**

 **songbird 6802**

for adding this fic to Alerts. Appreciate it. :)))

 _ **This story is AU.**_

 **Chapter 8**

 **The Wand**

Reader, come travel with me now. Can you fly? All the better. You need not concern yourself with dizzying heights or how competent you are by broomstick. It is my considered opinion that in these matters it is far better to embark on such a journey slowly and carefully or one may well bypass one's intended destination. Therefore walk if you wish; fly if it is your preferred method of transport. And if the latter and _if_ however after my advice you _must_ foolishly speed rather than ride with caution and _if_ you haven't flown on by, then wait for us there.

Time moved on while we paused to witness the quarrelling and we must return to a recent past. Yes, I know, I know, it has not escaped my attention we lack that marvellous and much sought after invention, a time-turner, yes, thank you, I _am_ perfectly aware I have no pensieve nor wand to press its tip against my forehead to extract memories - and, in any case, I am not sure I would welcome such an intrusion; would you? Fortunately, being mere observers, we own something greater: the power to step inside and outside our story wherever and whenever we choose to do so.

So now I ask you, whether by broomstick, magic, walking, or even impatience, to turn back in time with me. Before the rain fell, before the mystery shrouded, back to the Granger-Weasley garden, back to the sun burning down on our faces and shoulders, back to the grey sailing clouds casting their ominous shadows, to the group of children gathered here.

Five are watching James Sirius Potter in reverential silence.

Gazing majestically towards the sky, arm raised in triumph, James holds aloft a wand. (Any resemblance to King Arthur, living or dead, claiming the Sword of Excalibur is and was purely coincidental.) True, the effect is a little spoilt by the fact the wand is too big and too heavy for the nine-year-old and it wavers half-heartedly in his grip while it considers the pros and cons of a possible escape (for until very recently it was buried in a shallow grave beneath the soil and thought it a very peaceful and familiar way to spend the rest of its days) but this does nothing to detract from the dramatic effect James desired and his audience are duly impressed. Ah. You seem puzzled. As you've been so good as to accompany me, perhaps a little history will not go amiss.

The ancient wand, made of oak, elm, sycamore, and as yet unknown magical properties, was discovered hidden deep inside a cave on a Wizarding Archaeological Hunt and handed to erstwhile Auror Ron Weasley (nowadays joint proprietor of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes but still an active member of wizarding digs) who would, its finder not unreasonably presumed, treat it with the utmost care before taking it to the Ministry, where tests would be conducted to establish its exact age, abilities and to whom it had once belonged. Ron however, distracted by the Daily Prophet's headlines of a new type of cauldron cake being created, left it leaning against the wall of the Granger-Weasley home, where he promptly forgot all about it. And where that very evening, on a visit to his cousins, James found it. And buried it for future use, which, luckily or unluckily, happened to be the very next day. A small problem like performing under-age magic did not worry James.

The wand, which was enjoying a busier time than it had known for a great many centuries, had but minutes ago been dug up by the eldest Potter sibling who, if we stretch the description alarmingly and forget fidelius charms and souls and other troublesome matters, being as it were, its secret keeper, was privy to its exact location. And already its new life was promising to be quite eventful. In James's not-so-safe hands, it had thus far got itself tangled in Rose's tumbling locks ( _James blamed her big head of hair_ ), tripped James over ( _Rose blamed his big head_ ) and come close to accidentally striking Hugo ( _Hugo blamed James and Rose and anyone else who happened to be passing_ ).

But its most daring escapade to date was its ill-advised attempt to create a feast of chocolate.

Being an optimist, James Potter simply refused to believe the five principal exceptions to Gamp's Law and, promising immediate delivery, accepted requests on varying quantities, shapes and flavours of chocolate only to sorely disappoint his excited customers, who'd so eagerly placed their orders. The customers, however, once their initial anger died down, were talked round by more rash promises that fell so easily from James's lips.

The demand for total silence being satisfactorily observed, he moved on to his next attempt at magic and raised the wand, Which seemed to have decided to abandoned its struggle - more, I suspect, in burning curiosity as to what was going to happen next than defeat.

Hugo couldn't help but gasp at the mighty sight of the King Arthur re-enactment and was immediately subject to the glare of five pairs of stern young eyes.

"HUGO-OO, _SHUSH!"_ Lily, owner of the sparkling eyes (green like her father's) shouted helpfully. Four pairs of eyes immediately transferred their disapproving stares to Lily, while the remaining pair (toffee brown like his mother's) looked on smugly.

Tiring of the quiet afternoon now, the sun chose that very moment to lazily slip behind a convenient grey cloud and tiny drops of rain presently began to fall, gathering pace with a gentle rhythm, but the children barely noticed. All were intent now on the item at which the wand pointed.

Now no sooner were they in the garden than Scorpius had thrown off his little wizarding robes in favour of his usual uniform of jeans, T-shirt and trainers and there the discarded robes lay, currently the centre of attention, in a crumpled heap. The Malfoy son and heir had extracted from James a firm promise that _this_ spell _would_ work and the enthralled audience would witness the robes disappear and re-appear before their very eyes – not that Scorpius would be in the slightest bit concerned if he never saw the Slytherin green robes ever again but he knew his parents didn't have money to fritter away and his father was especially attached to them. And so he waited patiently, quite convinced of James's ability. Nor did James give the promise lightly. He always had great faith in himself.

With an exaggerated flourish and grave demeanour, he brought the wand down and pointed it at the robes laid between him and the watchers. The strict instructions that everybody stop talking was for dramatic effect only; James had absolutely no idea what he was doing and only an over-inflated confidence in his own ability. Mum and Dad often announced _"Evanesco"_ when making something vanish and so...

 _"Evanesco!"_ He announced hopefully, closing his eyes and secretly crossing his fingers behind his back. He opened his eyes again. The robes were exactly where they'd been before.

"Nothing!" Rose scowled accusingly.

"I wanted chocolate!" Hugo complained. This was the second time he'd been let down today and he was close to tears at the swindle.

"So did I!" Lily added. "And long hair _and_ I didn't get that neither."

"Chocolate was the spell before and he didn't do a spell for long hair," Albus pointed out patiently.

"Why?" Lily demanded fiercely of James, glossing over the tiny detail she hadn't asked for one to be cast. But like her eldest brother she was a born optimist and undeterred by the lack of goodies thus far. "I need new shoes, long hair and a broomstick," she demanded of him. "Do them now!"

"It's not fair!" Hugo protested. "Why does Lily get all that when I' get nothing?"

"Lily hasn't got _anything_ yet," Scorpius pointed out.

"She will, she will, she always gets her own way, and I didn't even get chocolate!" Hugo's voice was rising into a wail and James marvelled that no adult had yet come out to see why. Especially as, ever since he brought the wand down for the latest "spell" Trimblefeathers, who'd been watching the proceedings from the tree above, was behaving extremely oddly. Hooting and frantically flapping his wings as if being stalked by twenty cats with nothing but dead owl on their minds.

What was more, he flatly refused to come down, despite being tempted by all kinds of interesting incentives, some of which were pure fantasy: _I'll magic you a massive bag of owl treats_ (James); _When I get my chocolate you can have half...I mean, a bit..._ (Hugo); _I'll ask Dad to nick you the rare owl leg ring from the Ministry of Magic Museum_ (Albus); _I'll sing him a song – Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall..._ (Lily, accompanied by random dancing); _It's the only one in the world and made of diamonds, they'll never notice it's gone_ (Albus); _Trimby! Trimby, if you come down I promise I won't talk about Scorpius any more – well, not as much anyway_ (Rose).

Scorpius, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted by Rose's remark, felt, as he'd only met him today and didn't know Trimblefeathers well enough - or any other owl, come to that - to be familiar with wizarding owls' likes and dislikes suggested to James that perhaps he could try _magicking_ him down.

"Ha! James wouldn't know a real spell if it came right up and hit him on the nose!" Rose scoffed. "Let me have a go!" She made to snatch the ancient wand out of her cousin's grasp, but James was faster and swung away.

"Chocolato-chocco-owly-owl..." He began, inventing the word as he went along and being so impressed with himself he thought he'd go with the flow (it sounded way better than Evanesco, he thought, which sounded too much like muggle mineral water) ";...iggledown, triggledown..." The wizarding owl remained unimpressed by this sparkling oratory however and without waiting around for him to finish or even point the wand flew on to another branch, too-whit, too-whooing in outrage.

Oh, if only he were able to talk! Or if only those elite and very, very clever witches and wizards researching Owlogy would fly down from their ivory towers or step off their ley lines or leave their Round Tables every once in a while to mix with common wizarding folk like us and tell if _any_ progress at all has been made in the subject of owl language and whether or not they can translate owlspeak! Because then poor Trimblefeathers could have explained exactly what disturbed him so:-

It had been a very curious day all round. So perhaps Trimblefeathers shouldn't have been too surprised. But he was, he was. He couldn't help it. Things like this weren't supposed to happen even in the wizarding universe and yet they did. The moment James raised the wand and spelled _"Evanesco"_ to vanish the robes, things had changed. The sun slipped away, leaving rain-clouds to darken the landscape, and Trimblefeathers' night vision grew stronger. So he saw it with his very own owl eyes or he might never have believed it. Because...

The robes stayed where they were but...

... _the children were fading away..._

He screeched for all he was worth to warn them but of course that only made matters worse. Totally unaware they were turning into wispy shadows, they gathered around the tree to try and tempt him down, and their voices growing fainter all the while. Being an owl, Trimblefeathers had highly developed auditory skills (Rose had told him this once, reading aloud from one of her books, and afterwards Trimblefeathers rather pompously always preferred to use the expression instead of _"very good hearing"_ ) or he never would have heard Scorpius and James's plan to magic him down. Well, really! _He_ had no intention of vanishing too.

He flew out of the line of fire, prepared to dart, duck and dive. But just then little Lily, more interested in her dancing now than attention to owls, took a wonderful witchling reflective shooting star from her pocket in order to admire her nifty footwork. And even though, as it landed on the trunk of the tree, the star grew bigger and bigger, as wonderful witchling reflective shooting stars are apt to do before returning to their diminutive size and shooting back into their owner's palm, Lily...

... _had no reflection to gaze at..._

Nor did Hugo. Nor Albus. Nor any of the children.

"We're not here," Hugo said, his lower lip trembling.

"Oh, there just something wrong with the star! We _are_ here." Rose sounded a lot braver than she felt as she exchanged a puzzled glance with Scorpius.

"But we're not," James whispered, the wand falling from his hand to roll down a small slope and half into a rainwater puddle on the path, where it swayed gently in time with the raindrops.

"We're _not!"_ Albus echoed, staring at the star in the hope of finding his image, anybody's image, and searching in vain. The witchling star, having done its duty, shrank back to the size of a tiny coin and jumped happily into Lily's palm just as her high-pitched scream broke into the silence. It was the last, lingering echo of memories lost. For then they were gone, Rose and Scorpius, James and Albus, Lily and Hugo. As if they had never been and never would be again.

And all that was left in the empty garden was the haunting music of the pouring rain...

 **A/N:** Haha, don't know how I know what Trimblefeather's is thinking, seems I can already talk owlogy! :D I realise the correct expression should be owlology, but a quick check on the internet revealed there's already a study of all things owl (owlology) going on in the muggle world! (Except for some peculiar reason our ability to talk with them! :D)


	9. Chapter 9

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:-****

 _ _Thanks to__ :-

 ** **Charlotte Bird**** **for your fantastic review of Chapter 8 and for adding this fic to Alerts**

 **to:-**

 ** **Guest****

 ** **and****

 ** **Jannet****

for your lovely reviews of Chapter 8 :)))

 _ _Thanks also to:__ -

 **Martdum** for adding this fic to Faves and Alerts

 _Also to:-_

 **PandaHee**

 **and**

 **Winnie Wanze** for adding this fic to Alerts

 _ ** **Your support is greatly appreciated. I keep forgetting to say J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic, but I think you figured that out anyway. ;D****_ _ ** _ **This story is AU.**_**_

 **Chapter 9**

 **Customs**

Nobody could ever recollect Draco Malfoy's face being anything other than white as winter before, save for Astoria, who could, in the unlikely event she were ever asked to do so and even more unlikely event _did_ , recount in detail the infamous occasion her husband thought to satisfy his idle curiosity and try out the strange muggle ritual of sitting out for hours and hours under a blazing sun to see what happened. (Well, Reader, nothing _did_ happen except our hero woke to painfully burning bright red face, neck and arms, which his wife, while explaining _for Merlin's sake, Draco, muggles use sun-cream before sun-bathing!_ was fortunately able to heal with magic.) Ah! Sun-bathng! So _that_ was what the mysterious custom was called! And Draco, finding nothing at all pleasant about being hot, sweaty and burnt, reached the conclusion that sun-bathing was a decidedly peculiar muggle past-time that should never be experimented with again.

But I digress. Let us hasten back to our story. The curious sight of Malfoy's face purple with rage transfixed all as he politely and with great restraint, at least in his own opinion, raised the question. "What the hell have your brats done to my son?"

"Draco," Astoria whispered suddenly, tugging on his wrist in lieu of a sleeve ( _that_ , like its twin, was carefully rolled up his arm to hide its shame at its sorry threadbare state) for she had never left his side since they ventured out into the rain-scented garden, his arm still being protectively wrapped around her waist and Astoria's, in turn, being wrapped around his. And it gladdened my heart to see though well may you frown and observe it was an extremely impractical way in which to search for lost children albeit it _did_ hide motley stains and loosening threads on his robe's cuffs – oh, but, Reader, something else! It was they alone against all, strong for each other when their little world was crushed.

But their little world should have been three.

And as she steered them towards something fluttering in the breeze that had caught her eye, the pretty witch, her sleek black hair bedraggled by the ceaseless rain, pressed her lips together as though she feared to speak would bring some great calamity down upon them all. Or perhaps she was trying hard not to break down and cry.

Draco bent down to examine the small bedraggled bundle the size of a child. Slytherin green robes, fresh and bright and clean that morning, muddied and crumpled and saturated that afternoon. Curiously, they smelled of a deliciously sweet confectionery, indeed, as Scorpius's grim-faced father unfurled the empty clothing, a generous amount of what strangely appeared to be chocolate gateaux was discovered to be mixed in with the mud.

"Chocolate." He answered the unspoken question in his wife's frightened eyes. Not the dried blood she'd at first feared, but their son was still missing. Astoria swung around and clung to him tightly, her shoulders heaving with sobs.

"Yes. Well." Draco awkwardly patted her back lightly while (after his poor King Arthur imitation, James might well have envied how he slipped effortlessly into the role) pointing a wand threateningly at their hosts like a knight of old, with righteousness, brimfire and sword, rescuing a damsel in distress. He would really have liked to hug his wife just as tightly back but he was damned if he was going to let Potters, Grangers and Weasleys see him weak. And although he looked the epitome of cold indifference, glaring accusingly over her shoulder at the four Gryffindors, the situation terrified Draco.

Astoria was his strength, his rock, the one who could always make everything alright, who could turn around his anger and frustration and actually make him – well, okay, not quite laugh, that was going _too_ far – but smile at his mistakes "muggling", as he called his experimental forays into the muggle world (the unwise sunbathing incident, for instance, and perhaps the less said about the time he accepted a lift from the father of one of Scorpius's muggle schoolfriends the better; suffice to say, Draco no longer screamed for help when he went muggling by car). But now his wife was depending on him to challenge their hosts and demand they return their son unharmed. And he was Slytherin, clever, cunning and cowardly, not a let's-jump-in-and-fight-no-matter-what-the-consequences-gormless-Gryffindor.

But Scorpius and Astoria were the only people who mattered and no way was he going to lose face in front of this lot. He he had to pretend. And that was when he realised the robes had been concealing something that was gradually sinking further and further into the thick mud. A branch, but a strangely shaped branch. Long, like a...surely it couldn't be...He carefully dug his foot around it and then with the regal grace only a Malfoy could possibly achieve, spun himself and his wife around in one deft move (although he wasn't sure exactly who was giving who the most reassurance) and with a nifty flick of his toecap (years of practising sly kicks at opponents during Quidditch matches helped) hit it upward and into...

"Malfoy! No! Don't pick up it up!" Hermione screamed, suddenly realising what was (literally) afoot.

Still sniffling and teary-eyed, Astoria watched, not a little alarmed by his total disregard of Hermione's warning about the wand – yes, it _was_ a wand, that much was clear to everyone now – as Draco, with the speed of a talented Seeker successfully capturing a Snitch, fluidly pocketed his own wand, neatly caught the new magical implement in his fist and smirked back at Hermione. Granger must think he was an idiot. Well, to be fair, Granger's freaky super-sized computerized brain probably calculated everybody as being an idiot whether she herself agreed or not. Whatever, naturally he was going to do the complete opposite of whatever she said. If only for old time's sake. He raised the wand, feeling a rush of power as Granger's chocolate-coloured eyes widened. Ye gods, it was just like being back at Hogwart, back in the carefree days before the Dark Lord, dark marks and dark times spoiled all the fun. When he had the freedom to taunt whomsoever he wished with almost guaranteed impunity insurance due to the contract of "My father will hear about this."

"Don't fight." Astoria's voice brushed against his cheek not loud enough for anyone but Draco to hear and he guiltily lowered the wand though scowling at Hermione. She had not been listed on the curriculum of his expected studies at wizarding school but proved a fascinating subject just the same and he was sorely tempted to relive the joys of annoying her to provoke a reaction. But taunting at school had been for entertainment purposes only and, provided Crabbe and Goyle were there to protect him, a wonderfully relaxing leisure pursuit. Mostly thanks to Astoria, he'd grown up since then. Realised taunting unchecked led to far more serious matters. Like death, torture and destruction. His heart was never in these more extreme Death Eater hobbies, but, _oh!_ how he missed the blissful arrogance of the early days!

Watching Malfoy warily in case of wand attack, Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose, which he always did when thinking. "Ron, isn't that the wand from the Wizarding Dig? The one you said you'd put safely away in the warded secure cabinet until you took it to the Ministry?"

"Where it's still meant to be," Hermione added through gritted teeth; "not gallivanting in a garden."

"I just...um...wanted to show it to George first," Ron said. As Malfoy's complexion had returned to winter since his angry outburst so Ron's was now becoming a scorching summer.

"But don't you rememberwhat I said its symbols of nine diamonds inside two circles meant?" Hermione was aghast.

"Uh...yeah, 'Mione...maybe...Trimby! This is no time to show off your acting skills!" Ron admonished, seeking to deflect attention from himself, for Trimblefeathers had been behaving erratically ever since the adults stepped outside and was now like an owl possessed, rolling his head, turning airborne somersaults and hooting dramatically.

"Is it a priceless antique?" Ginny asked curiously, ignoring both her brother and the owl.

"It's not that, Gin, it's..."

"Wait! Nine diamonds inside two circles?" Harry interrupted in sudden comprehension. "That's...Malfoy, whatever you do, DON'T use that wand!"

"Drop it, Draco!" Astoria said, afraid.

"No way, Tori," he answered. Oh, no! No, no, _no!_ There weren't many things he and Astoria disagreed about, but this was too good an opportunity to miss. No doubt the wand once belonged to some wizarding wonder and it was considered disrespectful for anyone else to use it or some other such nonsense. Well, stuff poncy Gryffindor morals. If the wand was that potent it would make an excellent aid in the hunt for Scorpius. Plus anything that worried Granger and Potter was bound to be fun. He quirked an aristocratic eyebrow at their concern and smiled smugly.

But his smile froze as his silver-grey eyes suddenly met sly yellow ones. Boots had appeared silently from nowhere and, ears and whiskers alert, was stalking towards her prey. He could have sworn that damn cat with her tiny sharp teeth was even grinning at him.

"Ferrets," he gulped in terror, gripping his wife's hand tightly as he raised the wand and cried desperately, "Evanesco!"

And then, as if the credits were rolling on an old black and white TV show keen to encourage viewers to tune in next week and boost the ratings, he and Astoria simply...

...Vanished.


	10. Chapter 10

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:-****

 _ _For your lovely reviews of Chapter 9, thanks to__ :-

 ** **JeanandBilius Guest****

 _ _For adding Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall to your Alerts, thanks also to:__ -

 **YiNoPiano lightandlines starletzrose**

 **Really appreciated! :)))** ** **J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic. T**** **his story is AU.**

 ** **Important Note: I am moving house next week. I'll be without internet for several weeks so not sure when the next update of both this and Name Games will be. It's a longer chapter than usual, if that helps! :D****

 **Chapter 10**

 **Comings and Goings**

Draco and Astoria arrived to the surprised stares of six children - one of whom, with messy white-blond hair and eyes grey as a winter river, who wore jeans, T-shirt, trainers and a look of guilt at the lack of his brand new outer robes thereof, was definitely Scorpius - who were gathered under the shelter of the spreading branches of the large tree where they had last been sighted playing. Draco stared back. Although overjoyed to be reunited with his child, he was determined to be Slytherin cool.

Astoria recovered first, rushing to her small son and sweeping him up into an extremely tight bear hug.

"Mum! Stop, it please, my mates are gonna be watching me!" He cried in embarrassment although his muffled words sounded suspiciously like _"Mmmft! Sausages, peas and gravy on me!"_

At least, it did to Hugo, who couldn't decide whether Scorpius was offering to treat his parents to a celebratory dinner or complaining about being covered in foodstuffs from the party. The four-year-old screwed up his small, chubby face in thought. Rather odd food for a party, but grown-ups were all a bit weird so you never knew.

"Yay, you can take us back now!" Rose declared. She was really looking forward to apparating in the same exciting way her friend and his parents arrived. "Your Dad's the greatest apparition ever!" she added enthusiastically to Scorpius, who (since being set back down on _terra firma_ ) was comparing notes with Albus on breathability levels during hugs. Apparently Albus was extremely experienced in this through a certain Nanny Molly.

The Granger daughter really did possess a Slytherin-like ability to insult, Draco thought, impressed despite himself. Being asked if he remembered the Second Wizarding War _"that happened maybe a hundred years ago"_ when they first met was bad enough, but likening his pale features to that of a ghost, even a "greatest" ghost was a bit much. No time to dwell on it however.

"Right! We have out child. Let's go!" He said briskly to his wife.

"Draco!" Astoria was horrified. "We can't just leave the other kids here!"

"But, Tori, they're Potters, Grangers and Weasleys."

"They're _children."_ Astoria reminded him.

Her husband had his doubts about that as the frizzy-haired little witch, unhappy with the prospect of being left behind, folded her arms and regarded him with her most ferocious Granger glare, while the miniature Weasley clone with his eyebrows knitted together deep in thought could have passed for a particularly stern mini professor. And the eldest Potter look-a-like was spoiling for a fight if that glower was anything to go by. Draco sighed. He loved Astoria and Scorpius deeply, but he often felt he still had a lot to learn about not being the obnoxious prat he was before the terrible events of War.

Nearby a pretty witch of three or four was taking several steps forwards and backwards, turning around, hopping, skipping and jumping, flicking back her long blonde hair and then starting all over again.

"What _is_ she doing?" Draco asked the eldest Potter clone in a stage whisper, making a vague stab at polite conversation.

"Dancing." Lily overheard and supplied her own answer. She had great faith in grown-ups and was quite content now she was sure she would be going back safely. And there was never not a good time to practise. "I didn't have time to finish anything before," she added mysteriously.

James glanced at his little sister and back at Draco. "Okay. You've got the wand," he observed, eyeing the very item, as Lily returned to her busy twirls. "You have to magic us back now."

"He's right, Draco," Astoria said.

"How, Tori? I don't even know where we are." Draco looked around helplessly.

"In the garden. Where we were before." Rose spoke with tired patience as if to a particularly difficult five-year-old.

Draco blinked. It was indeed the very same garden he and Astoria had been standing in when he cast the Evanesco spell to vanish the cat. Which reminded him, where the hell had that ferret-hunting feline gone?

 **XXXXX**

Oddly enough, at the other side of the divide, Boots was thinking exactly the same about Draco. Although she _was_ a highly intelligent cat and had other concerns too. Where _had_ that unnaturally pale wizard and his wife suddenly disappeared to? Where _was_ the son? Just what _was_ wrong with that damn squawking owl? Boots settled herself down on the branch and tried to make sense of the conversation floating up from below.

"What...what's wrong with the wand?" The Glorious Go-Getting Seeker (at least this was what Ginny, world class Quidditch player, was called according to the Daily Prophet's weekly gossip column Celebrating Celebrities) asked tentatively of Hermione. Not sure she really wanted to know the answer. None of the four Gryffindors liked Malfoy but, for the sake of the kids, they were all making an effort worthy of Oscar nominations to pretend they did. For Hermione and Harry to be so worried and for her brother to look so guilty - Ron's face was now so red the sun could have set there - it must be serious.

The Wisest Bewitching Witch with the Wild Hair ( _Celebrating Celebrities; Daily Prophet_ ) looked grim. "Harry and I came across the diamond patterns once before in our Auror duties, Gin. _That_ wand only had two diamond symbols, but traces showed it to have been used for unspeakable evil." She shivered at the memory. "You see, we discovered a wand used for very dark magic begins to carve diamonds in on itself. The ancient wand has _nine_. Someone long ago _has_ tried to contain its evil with a reversal reflection spell - the two circles over the diamonds – but they only part succeeded. It means in an ordinary spell the wand won't work unless touched by water and then will either mirror image or reverse the request. One of the kids has obviously used an Evanesco and transported them all through the invisibility barrier. They won't be in any danger," she added quickly, reading Ginny's alarmed expression; "circles are extremely powerful methods of repelling darkness."

"Malfoy tried to cast an Evanesco on the cat," Harry, or The Wonderful Wizarding Wonder with the Lightning Scar ( _Celebrating Celebrities; Daily Prophet_ ) further explained; "which was why he and his wife disappeared instead."

From her perch on the branch of the tree, the glossy-coated black cat mewed as if in total agreement.

"Sneaky, snarky creatures." muttered Red Knight, Champion of Chess ( _Celebra...ooh, touchy, much? Okay, okay, calm down, I won't say any more_ ) would have been shocked to learn he shared exactly the same sentiments as The Debonaire Double-Dealing ex-Death Eater. ( _Right. I won't bother telling you this time. Fine. Then we're both happy._ )

"I heard that, Ronald Weasley-Granger!" Hermione said furiously. "Cats are _not_ sneaky or snarky! And this has all come about because of your total lack of responsibility."

Boots obviously wasn't happy with the description either and hissed so Ron deemed it wise to move away. He wasn't off the hook by a long chalk. Trimblefeathers was still creating a racket and flying around erratically. Harry was shaking his head in disbelief at his friend's stupidity. Ginny was glaring at him with the intensity only a younger sister glaring at an older brother can ever hope to achieve. Hermione was biting her bottom lip. A sure sign all was not well in the magical world.

"Sorry, 'Mione." He knew his wife adored cats and she had never quite gotten over Crookshanks' death. "The kids will be okay. Won't they?"

Hermione nodded. "They'll be fine now the Malfoys are there too."

"You trust Malfoy to look after our kids?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"No. I trust Malfoy to look after himself. And maybe his wife and son, he seems quite fond of them. But I _do_ trust Astoria."

"Astoria! _That_ was it!" Harry slapped his forehead in realisation, earning himself a scowl from Hermione and a painful punch on the arm from Ginny.

"None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for you and Brother Bozo here." The Go-Getting Seeker unwittingly provided a spare celebrity nickname should the Daily Prophet ever run out of flowery monikers. "Why couldn't you both simply have _asked_ instead of _guessing_ what her name was?"

"Half the fun. Oops!" Ron grinned sheepishly at his wife. He couldn't help himself. His sense of humour refused to mature despite his best efforts and his voice often acted before his brain engaged.

"It's okay, Ron." The Wisest Bewitching Witch with the Wild Hair sighed tolerantly. Because Ron really did love her. In his own way. And she loved him. Though he drove her crazy at times, he was a great husband and Dad. She would have been astonished to learn from the Daily Prophet that she was always screaming at Red Knight, Champion of Chess, and crying on the shoulder of The Debonaire Double-Dealing ex-Death Eater, which was causing friction with Greensleeves. ( _Not telling you. Work it out for yourself. Tough. You were the one who complained._ )

"So," Ginny said, perplexed; "if the evil is contained and nobody's in any danger, what's the problem? All we have to do is figure out the right spell and return everyone."

"Well, it's not quite that simple." Hermione exchanged a knowing glance with Harry, who was rubbing his still sore arm.

"The problem is Malfoy," he explained.

"As always," Ron muttered.

Harry ignored him. He took a deep breath, guiltily remembering his brief foray into dark magic, when he'd almost killed Draco Malfoy by stupidly casting a Sectumsempra without even knowing what it was. While he and Hermione were conducting wand-tracing spells on the ancient wand they'd been baffled when it suddenly sent a sharp electric shock up Harry's arm. Hermione's advanced wand tracing skills soon established the reason. "The wand's been lost for a long time," he said. It's seeking a new owner."

"And...?" Ginny prompted. "It's just what some lost wands do."

"Except a wand with diamond symbols _only_ wants someone who practises dark magic," Hermione continued, realising Harry was reluctant to say more. "It can sense if a witch or wizard has ever used it. The darker the magic, the more powerful it becomes. And Malfoy has history. Unless he has the strong will to resist, the wand will try to return him to the darkness. Like I said, Astoria and the kids won't be in any danger, they're protected by the circles," she added quickly, reading Ginny's horrified expression. "It's Malfoy who's in trouble. Big trouble."

They followed Hermione's gaze. In his haste to escape from the cat Draco had dropped his own wand. Soaked by rain, it lay abandoned exactly where it had fallen. From her vantage point on the branch, Boots arrogantly licked her lips and swished her tail as everybody switched their gaze to the reason it had been abandoned.

"What do we do?" Ron asked uncomfortably. The dangerous wand was with Malfoy all because of his carelessness. He didn't like the git, but he didn't want him being in its power either.

The bushy-haired witch frowned in thought. "Well, we could maybe wait a few hours until the mirror spell wears off, but that gives the wand more time to act. Or I could try a spell that just _might_ transport one of us through the barrier and get the wand back. If we get the wand back, we get everyone else back too. But it's more complicated than that. I don't have a mirror image wand. Transporting one person could damage the invisibility barrier and get them stuck there too; sending several people _definitely_ will. And it can't be Harry."

"I know." Harry sighed guiltily. He would never forgive himself for almost killing the Slytherin. And if he crossed the divide he risked the wand picking up on his solitary lapse into dark magic and adding it to its hold over Malfoy. Ginny slipped her arm in his. "We understand," she whispered.

"I'll go!" Ron announced, to everyone's surprise. "No arguments!" He added, when Hermione and Ginny looked about to object. "Better me than you or Ginny. 'Mione. Because if the wand works in mirror images, then the one who can't stand Malfoy most has the best chance of reversing its effect, right?"

She nodded in answer, taken aback by his perception, feeling proud, stunned and anxious all at once. Ron was the last person who'd want to willingly help Draco Malfoy, but she should have realised. His heart was big as a house.

He took both her hands in his. "You, Ginny and Harry never hated him as much as I did - still do - and..."

"Dislike, Ron," Hermione corrected gently. "Hate's a strong word. There shouldn't be any more hate."

"Dislike then." He smiled his lazy smile at her. Even after all these years, even after marriage and kids and responsibilities, his blue eyes could still make her heart thud when he gazed at her like that. Ever since that first heady moment when she realised she and Ron were no longer just good friends, but were falling in love.

"Promise me you'll take care."

"I will." He shook Harry's proffered hand, returned Ginny's hug, kissed his wife tenderly. The lazy smile was still in place as Hermione, praying desperately that nothing would go wrong, raised her wand.

 **XXXXX**

So near and yet so very far away, important negotiations were being held.

"So now you can sort it,"James said.

" _Me?"_ Draco spluttered. He'd found his son. What did assorted Potters, Weasleys and Grangers have to do with him? Oh, he wasn't totally heartless, of course he'd tell them where they were - wherever _where_ was. But Granger was meant to be the brightest witch of her age. Potter the saviour of the wizarding world. The Weaselette a bat-bogeying expert. Weasley...well, he hadn't figured out what Weasley's talent was yet (apart from food guzzling) but he was a so-called war hero. Surely between them they could come up with a way of being re-united with their offspring just as he had with Scorpius? Okay, he wasn't sure how he _got back_ with Scorpius but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Assuming he came to it. He was quite sure the ancient wand would help. They were almost soul-mates. He could feel pins of needles in his wand arm already.

"Well, you're the tallest." James accused, assessing his lankiness.

"You're the tallest of your gang," the blond wizard countered petulantly.

"Draco," Astoria sighed. "Grow up."

Hugo stared up at the dizzying heights of Scorpius's Dad and back at Scorpius's Mum, aghast. "But if Scorpius's Dad grows more 'n' more bigger he'll be _a giant!"_

"That's not correct, Hugo," Rose said bossily. "It's _if Scorpius's Dad grows bigger he'll be a giant."_

"That's what he said," Lily stopped dancing to join in the debate. She often alternated between arguing with Hugo and defending him. Whatever suited her mood of the moment. "Will you be able to touch the sky?" She looked impressed.

Hugo's eyes widened. "The sky! Can I go on your shoulders so I can touch it as well?"

With an impatient snort, Draco drew himself up to his lofty best. "Tori, could you please stop laughing and kindly explain to these...these...misguided beings the folly of circulating unfounded rumours?"

But that only made Astoria laugh all the more. It had been such a huge relief to the witch to find the son she'd imagined dead alive and well that her emotions escalated rapidly from the depths of despair to euphoria. Draco and kids simply did not mix. Oh, he tried his damnedest with Scorpius of course, but he did get it spectacularly wrong at times. Imagining _A Thousand Years and Two Thousand Pages of Quidditch_ to be a good book choice for one of his son's third birthday presents was not one of his better ideas, for instance. Fortunately Scorpius was a very patient child who adored his father and so, with a perplexed expression, merely sat on it while he opened more interesting birthday gifts. And, being of an inventive nature, put the book to extremely good use (at least, in Scorpius's opinion, if not his parents') only days later when he stood on it to reach the high kitchen cabinet and take out and eat a dozen chocolate frogs.

"Draco, they're kids...!" She spluttered at last. "You're talking like they're..they're..." Here, Astoria paused to catch her breath.

"You'll get a go, Hugo," Scorpius was gently telling the youngster. "But he's my Dad so I'd better touch the sky first to make sure it's safe, and Alb next cos he's my mate."

"Cool!" Albus said in delight.

"But I'm your _best_ friend," Rose protested.

"Oh, yeh, sorry! Al, would you mind taking your go after Rose when my Dad turns into a giant?"

Albus already possessed the qualities that would Sort him into Hufflepuff some five years later. He shrugged patiently. "Okay."

"I am NOT going to turn into a giant!" Draco roared.

"You shouldn't have let them think you were then," James said reprovingly.

Sweet Circe, didn't anyone have any respect for ex-Death Eaters anymore? "I did _not_ let..." Draco growled, as usual feeling he was slipping down a black abyss with nothing to hold on to when trapped in children's conversation. "Tori, _please...!"_

And at long last Astoria took pity. Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, she opened her mouth to explain. But before she could speak an unexpected visitor dropped in.

Draco was swishing the ancient wand, idly wondering about the tingling sensations running from his arm to his shoulder, and muttering grumpily to himself he wished witches and wizards wouldn't feed their imagination with junk food, when the extra guest arrived. It seemed he had kindly taken into consideration his hosts might not have prepared enough nibbles, for he thoughtfully brought his own food. Ron Weasley landed with a thud, an angry red face and an enormous burger in a bun jammed in his mouth...

 **A/N:** Okay, I realise in JKR's stories food cannot be created out of nothing, but this fic is AU so we're taking poetic licence and assuming the ancient wand has ancient extraordinary powers. If preferred, you can also take this idea with a pinch of salt. :D


	11. Chapter 11

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 *****chapter 11*****

 *****Drop-In*****

"Urrrgghhh!" The visitor greeted everyone - rather unusually, it must be said, as I hear it's much more common for guests to greet their hosts with a hello or hi or on more formal occasions a good evening or more informal a hug or a kiss – being rather unable to enunciate due to the slight problem of a gigantic burger in a bun being stuck in his mouth.

"For Godric's sake, Weasley, where are your manners?" Draco demanded imperiously, holding the ancient wand like a sceptre and staring in disgust at the new arrival, ignoring Astoria's frown at his own lack of respect. What the hell. It was enormously satisfying to score points over one third of the perfect prats trio. Three thirds would've been ideal of course, but he couldn't have everything. Or could he...?

The tall blond wizard could almost taste the breath of a mighty wind as a heady adrenaline rush swept over him and he recollected the Draco Malfoy he used to be. Powerful, influential, superior. The Draco Malfoy he could be again. _Would_ be again. Not the insipid Draco Malfoy of later years, weak, emotional, afraid. It was like shrugging on an old familiar robe that hadn't been worn in decades only to find it still fitted perfectly. Since the War, he'd become no more than a vague shadow of his former self. Wasted his pureblood heritage, kept his head down, concentrated on just being an ordinary, everyday wizard earning his living as a Healer. But he'd never been an ordinary everyday wizard, had he? He was born to be great. The ancient wand was tingling in his palm as if in total agreement. Doubtless it chose Draco as its new owner because it sensed his magnificence and yearned to bask in his glory. They belonged together. Kindred spirits.

And the Gryffindor goons wanted it back because they resented it taking so well to an ex-Death Eater. Probably wanted to use it to award every Hogwarts student a fluffy pink bunny or decorate the Ministry of Magic with butterflies and rainbows or play _let's-_ _all-_ _be-nice-to-_ _house-_ _elves-and-skip-round-tulips-and-daisies-tog_ _e_ _ther-_ _singing-and-_ _holding-hands_. Well, stuff that for a game of Exploding Snap. He had far greater plans for the rediscovered wand. Like revenge on all those who had ever crossed him. Starting with the extremely irritating Weasley. Aunt Bellatrix taught him well. Even now he could still recollect word for word the spell for a particularly juicy curse...

He suddenly felt Astoria's hand resting on his wand arm.

"Draco. Are you okay?" she asked with quiet concern and he shook himself out of...Whatever it was he'd been in. A dream? A stupor? A trance? About…? Nope, couldn't quite recall anything with any real clarity. But for some reason he was smirking. At what, he wasn't sure. Something to do with Weasley the Wonder Prat. Well, who wouldn't smirk at the fat oaf guzzling his food so fast he almost choked? He might tolerate the Weasel these days, but, let's face it, they were never going to be best buddies. Yes, he was obviously smirking at Weasley's crass eating habits. Yet he had the strangest feeling he'd been smirking at something darker...

"Bright as a patronus, Tori," he answered nonchalantly, so as not to worry her. "Seeing Weasley eat always makes me feel a bit queasy though. You know, I believe when muggles say they have a lot on their plate they have much to deal with. When Weasley says he has a lot on his plate he has a lot on his plate."

She laughed a fond, gentle laugh, aware Ron with his rough table manners and Draco with the gracious, effortless etiquette he learned at Malfoy Manor from a very young age - and still employed even in their humble two-up two-down in muggle suburbia much to his wife and son's amusement - were chalk and cheese. Often when there were photos in the wizarding press of Ron attending some important Ministry function her husband (after inevitably pointing out he only got an invite due to his friendship with Potter and Granger) would also be quick to point out the gravy stains on his shirt or how he was ignoring a Daily Prophet interviewer to gaze lovingly at the dessert tray or the way he was elbowing everybody else out of the way to grab some desired dish.

But while his host may have been unwelcoming, Ron was bowled over by the enthusiastic response of the younger contingent. Literally.

"Dad!" Hugo and Rose yelled in delight. "Uncle Ron!" James, Albus and Lily confirmed in joyful unison.

And, watched by a bemused and thoroughly entertained Scorpius, there was a mad scramble to get to the newcomer. Hugo ran at him so hard that his head collided with his father's stomach while James, Rose, Albus and Lily apparently preferred to launch their attack from behind. James got there first, Rose a split second later, while Albus came in third, all of whom immediately tried to leap on his back. Lily meanwhile, despite her best efforts, never quite made it to her destination and so, realising she never would, stopped to remind the assembled company (several times) in her loudest voice "I only lost 'cos my legs are littlest!" giving emphasis to her statement by stamping her small foot (several times) and thus adding impressive weight to her claim.

"Dad gives the best piggy back rides ever!" Rose shouted above the commotion in explanation to Scorpius, espying his expression of utter confusion as she and her seemingly would-be assassins were engaged in jumping out of the way while poor Ron stumbled forward, managing to stop himself just in the nick of time from tumbling over.

But the surrender to heavier forces in the face of defeat did have an unexpected bonus for the brave Gryfffndor. The burger bun was dislodged from his throat and, heady with its freedom, flew out of his mouth to a rousing chorus of "yeuks" and "gross" from the extremely happy children.

"Really, Weasley! The shocking example you're setting to young witches and wizards..." Draco tsked smugly. Astoria however had more important things on her mind than petty squabbles. She picked up Hugo, who was quite unhurt but sitting on the ground, sobbing his little heart out over his hair being _"all messed up now"_ and _"no chocolate came_ _and he said it would_ _"_. Astoria patted his back and made soothing noises about putting is hair right although it was so thick, wild and unruly she had no idea how. The no-show of chocolate after its apparent invitation remained a mystery.

"Hey!" James shouted urgently. "Let's all get a burger from the party and have a burger contest to see who can spit it further than Uncle Ron!"

"Yay! Brilliant!" Albus cheered, waved his arms and jumped on the spot in eager anticipation and Lily came to copy. As she'd lately been studying the crawling habits of a ladybird she had no idea what they were so happy about but she cheered, jumped and waved for all she was worth.

Scorpius beamed at Rose. He knew being invited to a play-date with his new friends would be fun, but he never dreamt I would be _this_ much fun.

"You will _no_ t have a burger spiting contest..." Ron began, busy dusting himself down. Then he suddenly recollected his mission and pulled himself together albeit in rather wobbly fashion, his ankle sprained in the nearly fall. "Right, Malfoy. Need the wand. Far too dangerous for you." Being an Auror for a very short while before he realised his true calling lay in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes lent Ron an authoritative air he'd never quite given back and he held out his hand expectantly. Of course Hermione could have explained to her forthright husband there were far better ways to explain a situation, but Hermione wasn't there and unfortunately Ron never did have a way with words.

Astoria had pulled out her own wand to fix Hugo's curly locks, but noticing Ron's limp she set down the small boy and Hugo, immediately forgetting all about his trauma, ran across to Lily and Albus and, without asking why, joined in with the cheer-leading while Astoria pointed her wand towards the red-head's injured foot instead. "Here, let me heal that for you," she smiled, never one to bear grudges even though she was still deeply hurt by the Gryffindor not even bothering to learn her name.

The noise level was threatening to break the sound barrier with James leading his willing troops in a lively debate on (burgers having been banned) what other foodstuffs might provide them with excellent spitting opportunities, but Draco, who always hated noise after the Battle of Hogwarts, was unaware of it. He frowned at Ron and Astoria. He did not like his wife giving The Weasel so much attention. He most certainly did not like her hand being on Weasley's shoulder - as it was now - and Tori talking to him in that gentle, caring manner. His head felt like it was about to burst and his whole body tingled with an odd kind of magic he'd never known before. It wasn't raw magic. He'd experienced raw magic once or twice when a child. Raw magic needed no wand, had no direction, sought no path as it screamed to be free. This magic was different. Very, very different. Strong and silent and sure. His wand arm trembled not with fear but with joyful certainty of what must be done. What should have been done a long time ago to those who took away his heritage as a Malfoy, who robbed him of all he ever was. But no more. He would destroy his enemies and rise again. Each and every one of them. Slowly, painfully, taking pleasure in their torturous deaths.

He aimed his wand squarely at Ron Weasley's chest. "Cru..."


	12. Chapter 12

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 **J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic.** ** _This story is AU._**

 *****chapter 12*****

 ******* **Drop-Out*****

"No!" Astoria screamed, realising what was about to happen, pulling Ron down with her to dodge the proposed curse. She was a slim petite witch and the red-headed wizard a good deal taller, a good deal heavier and (thanks to a love of all things edible) a good deal cruising complacently along to middle-aged spread, but Ron's injury made him clumsy and Astoria was light and agile. (Lily stopped her frantic cheer-leading to shrewdly watch, with narrowed eyes, concentrated frown and a mixture of admiration and envy, the interesting moves with a view to plagiarizing this brand new dance.) Although Astoria's left leg initially rose briefly before the tumble as if in farewell, they managed to slide almost gracefully down in the mud together to land side by side on their behinds.

"Are we all going to sit down and have a picnic now?" Hugo, who still hadn't given up on the dream of unlimited chocolate, asked his cousin hopefully. But Lily was far too busy practising a peculiar version of a pirouette to answer. (Should Astoria ever wish to do so she could justifiably claim it to be a vastly inferior design of exaggerated mimicry and definitely not the genuine article so recently displayed.)

Draco's wand arm trembled as Astoria's voice cut into the fog shrouding his brain. He hadn't really been about to cast a curse. Had he? Where had that terrifying anger come from? Sure, he didn't like Weasley, but to hate him enough to kill him…? Anyway, he didn't exactly hate anymore. He just...had an aversion to obnoxious red-haired wizards...well, not _quite_ obnoxious, more rather annoying...slobs; they offended his delicate Malfoyness. Hair colouring was immaterial. Even flaming Weasley-red.

The wand was protesting at his lack of co-operation however, burning into his palm as though it would brand him there forever... Merlin, no, no, never! He would _never_ take a Dark Mark again! He gritted his teeth and clamped his free hand on the wood, but only succeeded in getting both hands irretrievably stuck.

Exceptional circumstances called for exceptional forms of address.

"Draco, the wand's controlling you!" Ron yelled. "Drop the damn thing!"

"It won't let me, Ron!"

Once this was over, they both fervently prayed, they could slip back into their much more comfortable and familiar Malfoy/Weasley love-to-hate relationship and abandon this unnatural and unnerving politeness. Their prayers were answered much sooner than they'd hoped.

"It's still raining!" Ron observed brightly, stretching out his arm to check, as he suddenly remembered Hermione telling him that whenever it was wet the ancient wand would work an ordinary spell in a mirror image.

"Diddums, Weasley, get an umbrella, I've more important problems so _do_ something!" Draco snapped, swinging here, there and everywhere as he tried in vain to pull his hands off the wand.

"Sorry, but it's up to _you_ to do something, ordinary wands are too weak against the ancient one. For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, stop prancing around like a demented rain dancing troll and try an Accio to get rid of it!"

"Don't be so bloody thick, Weasley!" Draco advised breathlessly, bounding about as though on a spring, as Ron, helped by Astoria, hobbled towards him. "Even first year Hogwarts students know their basic wand magic. Accio means...This is _not_ funny!"

Lily paused. The new dance she was learning now, twirling around and leaping about with arms in the air holding a thin twig in lieu of a wand wasn't meant to be very, very serious. Was it? Ah, well, grown-ups knew best. "Okay," she sighed She pressed her lips together, set her face gravely and continued twirling.

"Is that child trying to deliberately provoke me?" Draco glared at the oblivious whirling dervish. his patience worn thin by his fiercely burning hands, Ron Weasley's stupidity and a desperation to avoid the wand's wishes.

"Draco, you're scaring the kids," Astoria chided mildly. Terrified of the wand's power over him but determined not to show it in front of the youngsters. She knew her husband wasn't capable of dark magic. He never truly had been despite his history. Arrogant and prejudiced, snobbish and selfish, even cruel, he may have been all these things a long time ago, before the Battle of Hogwarts sobered him, and he became the kind, gentle man he was now, but her Draco had never been evil. She trusted him. His own wand, dropped in the garden before they were transported in time, was unicorn core, the least likely, it was said, to turn to the darkness. He _had_ to be strong enough to resist the dark arts once more.

The Slytherin's heart guiltily skipped a beat. Astoria was right. Fortunately, the two youngest gave no cause for concern. The pretty little witch with the long blonde hair was, with sombre demeanour, still careering wildly about while clutching a twig. And for some strange reason the chubby little fellow with the burst-mattress hair had decided to sit on the wet grass to start up a one-man protest demanding chocolate rights with the loud and catchy refrain of "We want chocolate" - presumably in an effort to call to arms hundreds of supporters. From where, Draco had no idea.

But the four older kids had broken off from their heated burger spitting debate and were watching in ever increasing alarm.

"It's okay, Scorp," he said, forcing a careless smile and sucking in a breath as the wand scorched him even more furiously. "We're just...um… practising...um..."

"...a new trick from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Astoria finished quickly when he floundered, distracted by the pain. "It's a pretend wicked wand."

"It's called Weasley's Wicked Wand Wheeze," Ron added, catching on with uncharacteristic swiftness. "I asked your Dad to try the joke wand out before it goes on sale at the shop. Wondered where it had got to."

"It was buried in the garden," James revealed, ready to believe the story but not quite ready to admit he was the one who buried it there.

"Ah, yes. Didn't think to look there!" Ron feigned nonchalance. So that was where it disappeared to! Harry and Ginny would probably ground James for at least a thousand years when all this was over. If it was ever over. "Anyway, well done, mate," he said to Draco; "we'll certainly have the punters fooled into thinking it's a real live wicked wand."

Draco scowled though he wasn't quite sure whether it was because of the burning or because Ron Weasley just called him mate. Or another reason. He exchanged an agonised glance with Astoria as it suddenly occurred to the proud wizard that the worn cuffs of his best robe had been on show for all to see.

"It's fine," she said, reading his mind. Not because she was capable of legilimency but because she knew Draco well enough to recognise that anxious look. It was the same expression he wore earlier that day when they'd prepared to apparate after receiving the invitation. It seemed light years away now.

But it wasn't fine. He needed to get away from this embarrassment immediately. Of course! Why didn't he think of the obvious solution before?

"Evan..."

Ron drew his wand to block the spell...

...esco!"

And that was when, with a resigned sense of _deja vu_ , he and Astoria were abruptly knocked off their feet for a second time that day and were sent hurtling through the time warp. Ron sighed. Why didn't he think? Why didn't he _ever_ think? Ordinary spells worked in reverse when the ancient wand was wet. Blocking the Evanesco had boomeranged it backwards. Which meant the ancient wand was now even more strongly attached to Malfoy. And the Evanesco that would have drawn him and Malfoy's wife nearer to Malfoy sent them further away instead. Merlin's beard, he was meant to be persuading him to surrender the wand, not making sure he kept it!

"They will be okay, won't they?" Astoria shouted as they spun through the loud wind of the vortex, catching a brief glimpse of Draco, who stood gazing in shock at their rather sudden departure for a surprise trip.

"They will. I won't," Ron shouted back. "I'm in big trouble with Hermione. As Mum says, the fur will fly and feathers, not heads, will roll...Did I just see what I think I saw going in the opposite direction?"

"A cat and an owl?" Astoria yelled in return, feeling she knew how Alice in Wonderland must have felt going down a tunnel inhabited by unexpected creatures.

Ron groaned. He'd done it again. Malfoy had been directing the wand at him and he had still been aiming his wand at Malfoy when he quoted Molly Weasley's misquotes. Boomerang effect. Clash of wands. Result. They had just swapped places with Boots and Trimblefeathers...


	13. Chapter 13

_**For your**_ _ **lovely**_ _ **reviews of Chapter 1**_ _ **2**_ _ **thanks to:-**_

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 **Sorry this update took a while, I'm not much good with writing humour and** **I got stuck! :D**

 **J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic.** _ **This story is AU.**_

 *****chapter 13*****

 *****Understanding*****

The fiercely whirling thick dust stirred up by Ron and Astoria's hasty departure still hid the identities of the latest guests - fortunately for Draco, who, having no idea his arch enemy Boots was about to thoughtfully renew her acquaintance, basked in the luxury of blissful ignorance. Half accustomed to the burning, almost affectionate, attachment of the ancient wand by now, he merely stared in bewilderment at what appeared to be empty space where two people had so recently and rudely left without so much as bidding their host adieu.

The youngsters, too, were gathered round in silence. Even the smallest witch and smallest wizard had broken off from their extremely odd pursuits to stand and stare at him. No doubt they were all horrified by this unexpected turn of events and awaiting an explanation, he thought. A little nervously, realising he was all alone with the unpredictable creatures known as children. Scorpius, of course, was no bother, they were used to one another, but the other scary lot...in Draco's considered opinion children were a complete mystery never to be solved. And so it proved.

"That was a much better make-things-disappear show than yours, James. ( _Rose ignored_ _his_ _loud huff_ _o_ _f di_ _s_ _gust_ ) Okay, can you can you magic us _all_ back now, Mr Malfoy?"

The infuriating Slytherin candidate again. _What_ bloody make-things-disappear show? And _h_ _ow_ exactly did she expect that sarcastic little request to be achieved with a wand that did whatever it wanted and nobody knew how they got there in the first place? He looked up, prepared to give the bossy Weasley child a piece of his mind, but to his utter bafflement she was smiling broadly. Even more bafflingly, a ripple of polite raindrops-on-roses applause broke out, making him jump. Draco eyed them all warily, hoping Scorpius would steer him safely through this social minefield.

And Scorpius did albeit, being an unpredictable creature himself, he naturally led the conversation further into unchartered waters, where his father could only flounder helplessly, wondering what in Salzar's name they were all talking about now. "Wow, Dad, that was a brilliant magic trick! James tried and tried and _tried_ but he was rubbish at making stuff disappear." He shook his head sadly at the failed showman.

"Rubbish at everything really," Rose nodded agreement.

"I never got new shoes, long hair or a broomstick," the smallest witch added, as if it all made perfect sense.

"My friend's Dad is going to magic me some chocolate." The smallest wizard had evidently decided Scorpius' name was too much of a mouthful.

"Oh, I am, am I?" The one thus nominated demanded.

Hugo beamed happily back, the caustic remark sailing blissfully over his curly head. "Cool. Thanks, my friend's Dad."

"His name's Mr Mallyfly," Lily hissed.

"No, it's not," Albus corrected. "Ask Scorp. It's Mr Mal..."

Lily blanked him. "Can I have _dancing_ shoes, Mr Malllyfly?"

"Well, I like that!" James complained. "I do my very best magic and nobody even says thank you!"

"That's because you're rubbish at doing magic," Rose said.

"Yeh, you didn't do _any._ Not like my Dad. My Dad can do all kinds. He'll probably go on stage and make everyone disappear." To judge by the pride in his voice, Scorpius obviously thought this a far more illustrious career than being a Healer. On a par with owning a wizard sweetshop really, except a little better. "They'll clap like mad."

"Ha! If he makes _everyone_ disappear there won't be _anyone_ there to clap because there won't be _anyone_ there to watch." James was quite put out that his attempts were totally unappreciated and treated the usurper to his throne to a dark look.

Now Astoria always advised Draco when he was puzzled by children's conversation – as was often the case - he should try listening closely. Draco _was_ listening closely. And growing more and more confused by the second. He supposed as the only adult he ought to take charge, but how the hell could he when they spoke a different language? As it happened however he didn't have long to ponder on his predicament.

In a flurry of thick, swirling dust, Boots and Trimblefeathers landed in front of him as if lately alighted from the Hogwarts Express through clouds of steam. Trimblefeathers hooted. Boots miaowed. Draco shrieked. And then he did what his enemies would say he did best. He ran. Fast. And he might have made ground, he really might have, except...

...for some strange reason, he kept going round and round in circles. As did Boots. And Trimblefeathers. And Scorpius. And Rose. And James. And Albus. And Lily. And Hugo. And, interspersed with hooting, yowling and shrieking, they were a noisy lot.

"Dad! Dad, wait up!"

"Come back, my friend's Dad!"

"Mr Mallyfly! _Can_ I have _dancing_ shoes?"

"Can I have the wand again if you're going jogging?"

"Why are you running backwards?" Albus panted.

"It's an experiment. Why are you running?" Rose countered.

"Dunno. Every...body is. Gotta...stop...got a...st...itch".

"Don't stop, don't stop, it could be dangerous!" Draco warned, speeding past them in his frantic race to escape the ferret-hunting cat. Perhaps it was the exercise but his brain was suddenly whirring into gear. The wide radius around the tree had to be a time zone. It was the only explanation for all this frenzied appearing and disappearing. He knew very little about time zones apart from the common knowledge they didn't take kindly to being disturbed and rumours abounded about wizards and witches who vanished after their attempts to travel through time. The cat and the owl had landed in exactly the same spot where Astoria and Weasley had exited so it was a safe bet Astoria and Weasley had returned to their own time, but he needed to ensure Scorpius and the other children got back safely too. Why he should be concerned about assorted Potters, Weasleys and Grangers, he didn't know. Damn, damn, damn this stupid conscience; it was much easier when he didn't have one and could wallow happily in being obnoxious. Even when the annoying witch and the mini Potter lookalike minus the scar and glasses bumped into him, one running backwards and the other ignoring his advice, and they all three stumbled into a puddle, splashing the ancient wand stuck fast to his hands with muddy rain, he could barely bring himself to practise the famous Malfoy sneer and his action to protect them from the dreaded feline was instantaneous.

"Stupefy!" he yelled quickly, raising the ancient wand. But instead of being in front as anticipated Boots had already come full circle and approached from behind. To Draco's relief and confusion however, she froze anyway. Trimblefeathers flying above spun flying cartwheels of joy. Wizarding owls considered themselves far too civilized to hunt cats like a common muggle owl but they were far from being his favourite animal and it was so delightful not to have any more screeching offend his delicate ears.

Draco cast an anxious eye over Scorpius and the others. They were all okay, thank Merlin, being a tad too slow to catch up with the cat and therefore missing being stupefied. Though why a spell performed backwards should have worked at all…

He needed to think. but first he needed to cool his burning palms in the pool where the miniature Potter had decided to make use of his newly recovered wind by jumping in the puddle.

"I need that!" Draco demanded.

"Oh, okay." Albus the Easygoing stepped out of the muddy puddle and watched with great interest as Draco knelt and plunged his hands into its coffee brown waters.

"I think my Dad's doing another magic trick," Scorpius announced in a stage whisper.

"No. He's going to see if the wand can float," James guessed, earning himself a scathing look from Rose. "Why on earth would he do that?".

"Nobody knows," James shrugged as if the puddle panner was crazy, unwilling to admit it was something he'd planned to do himself.

"No, he's not. He's going to see if he can jump higher than Albus, aren't you. Mr Mallfly?"

"Nuh-uh. My friend's Dad is looking for chocolate," said Hugo the Optimist.

"Look, can you all just move back instead of breathing down my neck?" Draco pleaded, as the group stood around. But to his amazement and the children's obvious surprise, they abruptly drew closer as though some magnetic pull forced them nearer. As if…

For some reason, he exchanged a look with the annoying, frizzy-haired witch. Rose nodded wisely. She had inherited her mother's intelligence and even at 6½ was already used to being consulted on all matters requiring logic. While her playmates, hugely impressed by their feet dragging them in the opposite direction to that which Draco requested, were busy trying to recreate the sensation by moonwalking in the mud, the wheels and cogs of Rose's brain were turning.

"The ancient wand works its spells..." he began.

"...backwards!" Rose and he finished in unison. Rose folded her arms triumphantly. She had begun to suspect as much after Albus's failed attempts to make the robes disappear resulted in them all disappearing and then Dad's Evanesco vanished him and Mrs Malfoy instead of the wand. It was the very reason she'd experimented with running backwards although it was puzzling it had as yet yielded no results.

Draco frowned in thought. So now he knew the ancient wand worked in reverse, but how could he turn that knowledge to their advantage? The most important thing of course was looking after the kids especially Scorpius and at least he could concentrate now the burning sensation was wearing off and the wand's grip on his hands loosening, but…

He gasped. The brown rainwater was turning crystal clear! He could even see his mirror image frowning back at him. "Wow, what's happening? Is it dangerous?" Rose whispered from above, her Gryffindor spirit half hoping it was, watching as two or three ripples rose to the surface, her reflection wavering in the puddle with the Slytherin's.

"It'll be okay, kid. I just need to think." Draco wondered why he was reassuring the offspring of Granger and Weasley. Unfortunately, he frequently had weaknesses like this nowadays and even worse they seemed a natural state of affairs. Father would have disowned him.

The ripples on the water grew to four or five. Another reflection appeared as Scorpius, wondering why they were so interested in something as uninteresting as a rainwater puddle, broke away from the mud moonwalkers to swell the ranks of the puddle gazers.

"What are..."

"Ssshh!" Rose interrupted. "Your Dad's thinking and he needs all the help he can get."

Draco gave the witch a pained look. Did she practise these put-downs on purpose? "I _do_ have some brains, thank you."

"Yeh, s'true," Scorpius said earnestly. "Mum always says Dad's being a right clever clogs when he shows off and he's always showing off, aren't you, Dad?"

"Yes, alright, alright, enough with the character assassinations." Draco stared intently back down at the puddle.

How very odd. The nine diamond etchings on the ancient wand had blurred into circles like the two that once covered them. The ripples weren't ripples at all but _mirror images._ Eleven of them in fact, dancing in the bright sunlight beaming down after all the rain. There was an abrupt loud crack and he gasped in alarm and surprise as the ancient wand snapped in two and left him to sail the world - or at least their version of the world, a small pool of rainwater - like a couple of flimsy makeshift boats. And he should have been overjoyed to be rid of the accursed object at last. Except he wasn't. The ancient wand had snapped just when he needed a wand most.

Because while the water was clear as glass the mud beneath remained and his freed hands had fallen on something solid hidden in its murky depths…


	14. Chapter 14

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 **A/N:** Thank you seems so inadequate when people do such lovely things as reviewing, favouriting or following, but I hope you know how much I really do appreciate it.

J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic. _The story is AU._

 *****chapter 14*****

 *****Faith*****

"Hi!" Ron said brightly, as on the other side of the time divide he and Astoria landed with grace and a flourish (t _he grace was provided by Astoria; the flourish an unintended artistic gesture from Ron as the pretty Slytherin clad in emerald green steadied him and his injured ankle_ ). And, oh, all so perfectly executed that it could well have passed for an oft-rehearsed professional routine and so exquisitely performed that I really wish you could have seen it and...Ah. I forgot. You did. You were of course travelling with us. Welcome. Yes, I know it's a little late, but I _was_ rather busy travelling back and forth in time. ( _I guarantee you'll never come across a better reason for being unpunctual than that so I'm rather proud of my excuse._ )

Well, back to the present moment. Or whatever moment it might be in your world time and there's no time like the present. Which means, when you think about it, there's no time at all and, if there's no time at all, we've wasted an awful lot of time that wasn't there getting here so perhaps we should hurry back to the present moment or whatever moment it might... _hmmm..._

"Hi!" Ron said brightly. It seemed the safest word to hide behind when three pairs of eyes were staring accusingly at him.

"Don't _hi_ me, Ron Weasley!" Hermione seethed.

"Nor me!" Ginny snapped.

"It's okay to say hi to m...I guess not." Harry busied himself cleaning his spectacles the muggle way, breathing hard on the lens and polishing them with a spectacles cloth ( _to judge by how by how furiously he polished, muggles apparently regard this activity as a matter of life and death_ ).

"What in Merlin's name happened?" Astoria interjected quickly, keen as always to restore the peace. "One minute Draco and I were here, then we found ourselves with the kids, now I find myself back here without Draco _or_ the kids. Will they all be alright?" Her words, so icy and stand-offish when they began ( _it still hurt that they didn't trouble to learn her name but it hurt even more that it was glaringly obvious from the moment she and Draco arrived at the Granger-Weasleys' home none of the four Gryffindors liked her husband very much_ ) trailed off hoarsely as she fought to keep back the tears.

"It'll be okay," Ginny said softly.

"It will." Hermione echoed the sentiment. "We've established they're in a short time zone, just a few seconds ahead of us, and a short time zone always wears off if it doesn't get damaged. We can't risk warping this zone any further, but the kids aren't in any danger. I promise."

"The ancient wand is evil, but it can't harm anyone unless they've meddled with dark magic," Ron added helpfully.

Astoria turned white. Everybody knew Draco's history as a Death Eater. "And if they have…?"

"It will _try_ to turn them back to the Dark Side." Ginny frowned at her brother. There were heaps more subtle ways of breaking bad news but Ron never seemed to discover any of them. "Which is why Ron crossed over to fetch the wand. And, Ron being Ron, came back without it."

"I couldn't help it!" Ron defended himself. "That bloody evil wand wasn't letting him go."

"But you could be wrong about the wand being evil!" Astoria desperately clutched at straws. "How can you be sure?"

"We ran tests. Advanced tracing spells," Harry replied. "We ran them because the wand began to control me. It sensed I'd once cast a Sectumsempra." He swallowed thickly. Even after all these years he still carried a heavy burden on his conscience over nearly killing Malfoy through using a spell he didn't fully understand. "It was only because Hermione was there to help that I was able to fight it."

"So the wand could possess Draco and there's nothing anyone can do about it!" Astoria was past pretending now. Her voice wavered with emotion. "But there _must_ be some way, _something_ someone can do!"

"Draco is the only one who can. He can resist it. We just need him to be...strong." Hermione worriedly chewed her bottom lip. Malfoy had never been courageous. It was only ever about saving his own skin.

"He will be." Astoria said staunchly. She read the doubt on all their faces and her heart twanged with so much love and sympathy for her husband she thought it would break. "Draco's brave," she added shakily. "People say he isn't but he is. They forget how he defied Voldemort. He wouldn't kill Professor Dumbledore even though...though Voldemort threatened to kill him and his family. And he wouldn't identify you at Malfoy Manor, you said so at his trial! He was terrified of The Dark Lord, but he did..he did what he could..."

She had to let them know. Draco wasn't perfect. He could still be smug, arrogant and conceited. But nobody was perfect. Were they? Everybody had their flaws.

"And...and he went against everything he'd been taught and agreed we'd bring Scorpius up to think of muggles as equals. And he doesn't find it easy, you know, he doesn't always understand, he makes mistakes, he says the wrong things, but he tries...he tries so hard. Draco is...Draco. Scorpius and I love him. Even if nobody else does." A sob caught in her throat. "Even if none of you really wanted him here."

The air crackled momentarily with a guilty silence. Deep down, they _had_ hoped and prayed Malfoy would refuse the invitation.

"Nice weather. After all that rain earlier." Ron rushed in where angels feared to tread with another Ron-proofed topic. "Do you think we'll have a decent summer this year?" He continued when nobody responded. "We could all get together and have a barbecue one day if Malfoy hasn't become a Dark Wizard..."

" _Ron!"_ Ginny remonstrated. "Even Harry's got more tact."

"Thanks. I think." Harry absently trailed his fingers across the lightning scar on his forehead. Weird. It hurt like hell back in the days of Voldemort, but never before had it felt _soothing._

"But I was being kind!" Ron complained. "I don't like Malfoy, but I'll put up with him at a barbecue. That is, if he's not gone back over to the Dark Side again..."

Astoria couldn't hold back the tears any longer and Hermione hugged the trembling witch to her, her own eyes shining with tears of sympathy. "Just don't. Don't say any more," the bushy-haired Gryffindor warned her insensitive husband.

Thinking it might be a good idea to change the subject, Harry opened his mouth to remark upon the scar's odd behaviour but Ginny shook her head and he snapped it shut again. Probably best if he kept schtum too and avoided putting his foot in it, he decided. He and Ron weren't exactly famed for being gifted orators.

And so they were silent except for Astoria's sobs. Everything rested on Malfoy now. All they could do was wait and hope.

 **XXXXX**

Something solid rose to the surface of the mud as the ancient wand disintegrated into it. Something that was determined to press into his hand in its place. Gingerly, Draco lifted the stubborn object. It was…

... _his wand!_ His very own wand! The wand he'd dropped in his haste to escape Boots! How the hell it got into the puddle he didn't know and he didn't care. The clingy wand had finally gone to pieces after the parting of the ways in their one-sided relationship and sunk into a deep abyss. But his true love was back! Back forever!

He leapt up and delightedly swished the hawthorn wand into the air without concerning himself too much about exactly where it was being waved. As it happened, in Trimblefeathers' flight space and Trimblefeathers naturally objected.

Which led to Draco raising an objection too. "Will you please stop that stupid squawking?"

Squawking?! Trimblefeathers never felt so insulted. Ruffled feathers didn't even come close. He deliberately flew in Draco's face and batted his wings, too-whit, too-whooing for all he was worth.

"Trimblefeathers!" Rose remonstrated. "I know Mr Malfoy's not a very nice wizard, but that's very bad manners."

"I _am_ a nice wizard," Draco protested, stung by the unjust accusation. He might have been a nasty, selfish, spoilt wizard when he was a boy but he considered himself a very nice wizard nowadays.

Rose wagged a reproving finger. "You stupefied the cat."

"Boots," Scorpius added.

"Whose side are you on?" Draco demanded.

"Oh!" Scorpius wasn't expecting a quiz. They usually only had quizzes when Dad was helping him with his lessons. "Can I tell you later, Dad? I need to have a think."

"That was NOT a question, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

"You stupefied Boots." Rose amended, patting Scorpius's arm when he stared at his father in confusion. These quizzes got harder and harder.

"No dancing shoes." Lily lifted first her right foot and then her left to validate her claim.

"No chocolate." Hugo sighed deeply and thrust his hands in his pockets. He was beginning to doubt the dream of unlimited all shapes and all sizes chocolate would ever materialise. Might as well push his luck. Something might give. He looked as forlorn as he possibly could. "Or chocolate frogs. Or which-witch-is-witch sweets. Or screaming ice-cream..."

"No wand. Yet." James held out his hand hopefully and sighed dramatically when still no wand was forthcoming.

"...or wizarding whizzing wafers. Or cackling cookies. Or...

Everybody looked to Albus for his contribution. "I didn't really mind, but it _wa_ s my puddle to jump in first, you know."

"...cauldron cake. Or Bertie Bott's All Fall Over Beans ( _Reader_ , _this product_ _did not exist except in Hugo's extremely_ _interesting imagination_ ) Or Bertie Bott's Batty Biscuits or..."

"I _am_ a nice wizard! I talk to muggles. I drink muggle tea. I even drank muggle coffee once. Didn't like it. I tried the strange muggle ritual of sitting in the sun once. Didn't like that either. I turn up to a party hosted by _Potter, Weasley and Granger._ I am so nice I deserve a Being Nice medal."

"...muggle jammie dodgers. Or those muggle biscuits with the little people playing sport on them. Not real people. Or...

"I am perfectly aware," Draco said pompously, tucking his wand under his arm . "That they are not real people. I am perfectly aware that muggles do not put real people on their biscuits. I know this because I am a very nice wizard and take an interest in muggles and their peculiar little ways." He was very proud of his in-depth knowledge. He tilted his chin and puffed out his chest. He was sure he made an impressive figure. Thank Godric it had finally stopped raining, it was ruining his carefully gelled hair.

Hugo's lower lip trembled but Draco was too full of his own importance to notice. "I no longer scream for help when travelling in a muggle car although I feel obliged to point out I _ought_ to," he blithely continued. " _I,_ of pureblood descent _,_ have been known to sit down and watch muggle television. I have…

"My friend's Dad is being nasty to me!" Hugo wailed, preparing for an onslaught of tears.

"I was _not._ I was under the impression we had firmly established I am a very nice wizard? Can you kindly explain your leaning toward a different opinion in the face of hard evidence to the contrary?"

Hugo was shocked dry-eyed. What did all that mean? Most adults, when threatened with a crying attack, said _"There, there, dear"_ or _"You can have sweets but only if you're good"_ or _"Whatever is the matter?"_

He fell back on a tried and tested answer. "I don't like you anymore!"

The Slytherin gaped. "Does that mean you liked me before?"

"Of course he did," Rose cut in. "We all liked you until you turned nasty. Even Trimblefeathers." ( _The owl hooted his approval from Rose's left shoulder._ )

"You _all_ liked me?" For some reason he couldn't fathom, Draco felt quite awed. And touched. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I guess we still do." Rose admitted, grinning. "Even Hugo likes you really. Don't you, Hugo?"

"I like my friend's Dad when he's funny," Hugo confirmed happily, his tears completely forgotten in the new wave of conversation he could actually understand.

"I like you 'cos most grown-ups aren't very good at silly talk but you're very, very good at it."

Draco raised a cautious eyebrow. As always, he was never one hundred per cent certain whether the smart little witch was insulting him or not.

"I like your silly dances best," Lily announced.

"I like your silly faces," James added.

"Ooh, yes!" Albus cried. "I liked it when you had the other wand and did this..." He puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes.

"Nah, it was a bit more like this..." Scorpius puffed out his cheeks, rolled his eyes and twisted strands of hair through his fingers to make it stand on end.

"Scorpius, as I mentioned earlier, exactly whose side are you on?" Draco spoke indulgently however, still digesting the astonishing revelation. They all liked Draco Malfoy. They all _liked_ Draco Malfoy. THEY ALL LIKED DRACO MALFOY! A situation such as this was unheard of before.

"Oh, yeh, I forgot, I've had a think now! I'll be on Rose and Lily's side and James, Albus and Hugo can be the other side. Are we going to play three-a-side football or wizards-we-are-three-rounders? Can I do the first three twirls if it's wizards-we-are-three? Will you be referee?"

Draco looked blankly at Rose, mystified by his son's reply. She gave off an aura of wisdom that he trusted implicitly. Perhaps it was her admirable Slytherne qualities, but if he didn't know any better he'd swear he was actually becoming fast friends with the Granger-Weasley daughter…


	15. Chapter 15

_For your very kind reviews of Chapter 14, thank you to:-_

 **JeanandBilius**

 **Guests**

 _For adding this fic to Alerts thank you to:-_

 _ **theresagrahammineart**_

 _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic._ _The story is AU._

 *****chapter 15*****

 *****Journeys*****

"The air's changing," Ginny stood nearest the gnarled old oak tree and was first to notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere. "Can anyone else feel it?"

They all could now. Almost before she finished speaking. The cold and the damp that had tainted the afternoon was no more. The breeze that had lifted the leaves while the rain pattered moodily down faded and died. All was still. Breathless. Waiting.

"What does it mean?" Although the day was becoming lazily warm, Astoria shivered. Draco wasn't back yet. Nor Scorpius. Or any of the kids. Anything could have happened.

"A time zone will often alter the temperature when it's reverting to the time it's meant to be." Harry looked to Hermione for confirmation and was relieved when his friend nodded agreement. He might have been called, to his great embarrassment, Saviour of the Wizarding World back at Hogwarts, but he'd never exactly been a scholar – not in the literal sense anyway.

"Is that...is that good?" Astoria asked, the lilt of hope in her voice, wiping her earlier tears with the heel of her hand.

"It's...promising," Hermione admitted carefully, not wishing to give false hope. Because it was also extremely puzzling. As a general rule, negative magic turned backward time zones icy and the ancient wand had been used in very Dark magic indeed. The protective circles someone long ago had cast over the evil diamond etchings would keep the children safe but protective circles weren't powerful enough to block the iciness. Only one thing was. Love. But love and Draco Malfoy didn't go hand in hand. Not unless you counted being in love with himself. Though he did love his wife and son, that much was obvious. She nibbled her bottom lip in thought. Maybe Scorpius had persuaded his father not to cast any evil spells but for how long? He was only a child after all and couldn't influence its control over him. "Either the time zone will spill them out or Mal...Draco," she corrected herself, making an attempt to sound more friendly towards the cruel tormentor of her childhood and teenage years for Astoria's sake; "has figured out a way to return."

"Well, there you go!" Ron said jovially. "We'll find out if Malfoy has gone back over to the Dark Side soon enough."

"Ron! Can't you think of another topic?" Hermione glared She loved him, she really did; Rose and Hugo adored him, he was a great husband and father, had the biggest heart and often made her laugh till she cried, but at times she wanted to scream at him for his stupidity. Especially when he looked inspired and opened his mouth to say something more. Going on past experience, Ron being inspired just before he made an announcement was not a good omen. They had nearly been thrown out of a Ministry meeting in Paris once when a naive young foreign Minister, bowled over by Ron's enthusiasm for France, invited him to make a speech. "No, on second thoughts, _don't."_

"It's okay." The ghost of a sad small smile flitted briefly across Astoria's pale face. "He's like Draco. He doesn't really mean what he says, he just doesn't think."

Ron's clamped shut mouth as per Hermione's advice re-opened as his jaw dropped in astonishment. He had had many strange adventures in the magical world, but being likened to Draco Malfoy topped the lot.

"Speaks without engaging his brain?" Hermione smiled back.

"Exactly." Astoria looked up, the corners of her lips twitching.

"Like all wizards. The tales I could tell about my Dad and my brothers..." Ginny shook her head.

"Hey! Three against two! They're ganging up on us." But Ron was grinning, as was Harry.

The mood was lighter, growing with the calm of the day, spreading with the banter and the laughter.

"You know, there's something else." Despite his image being splashed all over the wizarding media, often as not accompanied by the fawning articles he detested, Harry still hated to draw attention to himself. He wanted nothing more than to blend into the background and be a good family man and competent Auror, but even those who entered the world long after the War was over recognised him instantly as the defeater of Voldemort because of the lightning scar that marked his forehead. With Hermione, Ron and Ginny he had no such qualms talking about it, but Malfoy's wife was new to their close-knit circle. "I didn't say anything before because I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or not. But it hasn't gone away. My scar's been tingling again. Not how it did with Voldemort," he continued quickly. when Ginny shot him a look of alarm. "It's...well, I know it sounds crazy, but it's kind of _soothing._ I've no idea what it means though."

"I think it sounds good, Harry," Hermione said, smiling at Astoria. "Very, very good."

And as sunlight bathed the garden, the raven-haired witch felt another warmth, one she'd not known from the rest of the wizarding universe since being ostracised for marrying Draco. It was slow, uncertain, not yet fully awake, not yet aware of its birth. But it was there just the same.

It felt like the tentative blossoming of friendship.

 **XXXXX**

"Now," Draco said authoritatively, clutching his unicorn-core wand with confidence. "All I have to do is apparate us all back. Right?" He looked to Rose for confirmation.

She shook her wonderfully thick, tangled hair. Small wonder Trimblefeathers was so fond of the little witch, the lanky wizard thought absently, the owl probably imagined she was keeping the perfect nest ready for him to move into immediately he started a family. "It's not that simple?" He raise a worried eyebrow.

"Sorry, Mr Malfoy."

But before he could query his mentor further, he felt something tugging at the billowing sleeves of his robe and looked down to see the cause. He soon found it. The smallest witch and smallest wizard were at either side, swinging in the air.

"What are you doing?" the Slytherin asked, a little fearfully (children, even children who had lately declared they liked you, were still strange creatures) trying unsuccessfully to shake them off. Their grips tightened, the swinging intensified and the mini owner of the head of hair naught and none could rival save for the Granger-Weasley daughter was heard to announce _"Wheeeeeeee"_ several times from the vicinity of the right sleeve.

"We always travel this way." Lily's voice was full of pure unadulterated joy as she held on to his left sleeve for dear life. "Mum and Dad and Auntie Hermione and Uncle Ron all say it's safest."

"Safest for what, from what and for whom, may I ask?" Draco demanded imperiously, and to the shake of his arms added wiggling his hips like a bad Elvis Presley impersonator. Still no luck. They were stuck fast although the smallest witch's firm hold slightly weakened while she intently studied the new move. Thank Salzar his robes had been charmed to withstand the heaviest of wear and tear since the over-used scourgifying charms had lost their effectiveness.

"Safest for apple hating." Still swaying like a tiny monkey, Hugo kindly took time out from his busy schedule of excited yells to answer.

The ex-Death Eater frowned. What the hell was apple hating? Some new ceremony held every year by half-blood witches and wizards? Why would anyone hate apples? Personally, he loved the fruits although, due to unhappy memories of the Vanishing Cabinet incident, there had been a hiatus re little green apples and a temporary switch to eating cox orange pippins. Being an enlightened wizard, however, he thought he ought to make a valiant effort to comprehend the logic of a muggleborn's offspring. "I...um...see. And what does everyone do to apples they hate?"

Hugo had never considered such a scenario before but upon being pressed for an answer obligingly dug out his own version of events from his ever-ready imagination. "I think they ride very, very high on broomsticks and throw apples over cliffs. Yeh. They do." He added with conviction after a brief pause to think it over and consult with himself.

"They don't travel like that, Mum and Dad and Auntie Hermione and Uncle Ron _carry_ them," James clarified. "And, Hugo, you dork, you mean _apparating."_

"Oh!" Hugo digested this new information philosophically. "Well, I don't hate apples anyway. I hate pineapple."

"I love pineapple!" Scorpius declared. "I hate watermelon."

Draco shuttered his eyes. Merlin preserve him from this madness. He had no desire to become embroiled in yet another of their crazy conversations.

"Watermelon? How can anyone hate watermelon? That's crazy!" Rose was aghast.

"Yeh, I know, everybody says it's weird," Scorpius said happily. "But just can't eat it, I always spit it out," he proudly revealed.

"You might've been dead good in the burger spitting contest Uncle Ron wouldn't let us have," James remarked yearningly.

"Maybe he'll let us spit out watermelons instead," Albus said optimistically.

"Look, could you two kindly alight at your destinations now?" Draco pleaded with his hitch-hikers, tiring of the dragging weight on his robes. He was met with blank stares from both Hugo and Lily. "Will you please get off my sleeves?" He amended.

"Awwww!" Hugo complained, and made no attempt to land.

"Can't," Lily stated. "What do I do with my feet? You didn't show me the feet dance, only the arms and here." She freed one hand to pat a spot halfway between her tummy and hips.

"Waist," Albus supplied helpfully.

"It is not!" Lily objected hotly. "I _like_ dancing!"

Maybe if he closed his eyes again it would turn out this was just a bad dream and they hadn't even set off for Scorpius's playdate. Maybe...maybe they hadn't even answered the invitation. But just when hope began to flutter timidly in his chest a little voice brought him crashing back down to reality.

"What are all those shiny marks on your sleeves, Mr Malfoy?" James asked curiously.

"Oh, Mum and Dad can't afford new robes," Scorpius put in before his father had a chance to think up a plausible excuse. "They can't afford anything really."

Lily jumped down, blinking back tears. "That is _sooo_ sad!"

Hugo jumped down from the other side. "And my friend's Dad has holes there too - look!" He said, lifting the ragged hem to horrified gasps.

"Oh, poor Mr Mallfly! That's why you walk funny!" Lily used the already-worn sleeve to bury her head inside and sob.

"Yes, alright, aright, thank you. Can the right sleeve passenger please stop pointing out fashion gaffes and the left sleeve passenger please stop crying?"

"Mum says to stop crying blow your nose. Hard. Like this." Hugo kindly demonstrated from one side and Lily followed suit at the other. Draco could have cried too except there were no more spare (or even dry) sleeves to cry on. Someone somewhere might have appreciated the irony of calling him snotty, he thought grimly. Not only were his best robes in a bad way, but his reputation as a wealthy wizard was in tatters too.

"But you can scourgify them," Rose said. "My Mum can show you the spell. Or my Dad."

"I already _know_ how to scourgify. I do NOT need lessons." Draco cringed at the idea of Ron Weasley, the very wizard he had mocked for wearing shabby old clothes, showing _him_ how to scourgify _his_ shabby old clothes.

"Then why don't you…?" James began.

"They stopped working 'cos Mum and Dad used too many," Scorpius blithely continued to his pater's great embarrassment. "They thought I didn't know."

Six pairs of eyes looked up in sympathy. Sweet Circe, he, the great Draco Malfoy, who at Hogwarts thought nothing of having more galleons per week than other kids saw in a years, was pitied for being poor. Could this moment get any worse? Apparently, yes. Yes, it could.

He'd forgotten a basic rule of magic: a stupefecation spell will not last indefinitely. A hissing sound came along to remind him. Boots the cat was beginning to stir…

 **A/N:** I LOVE cox orange pippin apples but they don't seem to exist in the UK any more. :( Every now and then shop signs display "cox orange pippins" but they never are, they're just cox pippins, nice enough but not quite the same. I don't know where they've gone, but someone bring them back!

I am leaving my current internet provider soon so won't be able to post new chapters until I'm sorted. Fingers crossed, won't be too long without a connection.


	16. Chapter 16

_For your_ _lovely_ _reviews of Chapter 1_ _5_ _, thank you to:-_

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 _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic._ _ _The story is AU.__

 *****chapter 16*****

 *****Harmony*****

Fortunately, the time zone must have altered matters (being a time zone it was pretty good at altering matter anyway so had a head-start) as Boots' return was proving to be, happily for Draco and unhappily for Boots, exceptionally slow. And rather unusual. For the plump black cat shimmered and simmered and shimmied inside a silvery, cobwebby cocoon, hissing for all she was worth with tail arched, glaring at Draco with angry yellow eyes, as if she held him personally responsible for the delay to her journey and fully intended to produce a ticket and claim financial reimbursement.

Grateful though he was for the extra time, it was still, in the lanky wizard's opinion, a fearsome sight. He gulped back a scream, ignoring the dancing-obsessed little witch's stern hands-on-hips reprimand "You MUST say 'scuse me when you burp! _M_ _r_ _Mall_ _y_ _fly!_ Mr Mallyfly, are you listening?" She demanded bossily, as he ushered the other children behind him while carefully keeping the wand aloft and aimed at the fat feline.

Yes. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Draco was. He was also trying to figure out what to do. Boots was exceedingly dangerous. And having nine lives (he'd read it in muggle literature) plus Slytherin slyness and an aptitude for silent stalking made her even more so. She knew too much and still she wanted to know more. Such as where was this ferret she hoped to dine out on? She could definitely smell ferret every time a certain pale, white-blond wizard was in the vicinity. Moreover, if Boots succeeded in her evil plan for a sumptuous ferret banquet, who knew where it would all end? Inviting all her friends to the feast? A chain of Michelin Star ferret restaurants? What if it gave her ideas for hunting down miniature witches and wizards just to see what _they_ tasted like? He knew he had to protect this lot at all costs. It was the _why_ he didn't know.

It was natural to want to protect his son but for some weird reason he felt obliged to protect Scorpius's friends as well. Maybe it was the memory of the fact he embarrassingly owed Potter his life when his classmate swooped down and rescued him from the hungry flames of the Fiendfyre that killed Crabbe. Scarface, Know-All and The Amazing Whinging Weasel could have left him there to die too. But they didn't. They risked their own lives to come back and save him and Goyle. He never dreamt he would be concerned about the offspring of the glory-hunting Gryffindors, but a lot of things had changed since The Battle of Hogwarts. Anyway, the Wizarding War had ended a long time ago, when he was just seventeen (a century past, the sassy, smart-mouthed witch estimated) and there was enough history of bad blood between enemies.

In the midst of the slow-motion cat crisis, Draco paused to bask in his own admiration. Pureblood, half-blood, blood traitors, bad blood. What a simile! What a wizard! Handsome and charming _and_ clever and witty and...

"Dad!" Scorpius piped up from behind. "You know that song in the movie we watched the other night about them escaping from the Nazis with seven kids..."

Street cred, street cred. He was a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake, not a goddamn Hufflepuff! Denial was the better form of defence. "I know of no such movie, Scorpius."

"Yeh, you do! You asked Mum to pause it when you went to pour the tea and you said like you always say you still didn't know why the teapot always needed to wear the coat Mrs Thomas next door knitted and it might as well wear a hat and gloves as well and Mum said it's not a coat, it's a tea cosy and..."

Maybe pretending he couldn't hear and concentrating on the urgency of the situation before his son tore his Slytherine reputation completely to shreds was an even better form of defence. "You! Behind me now!" Draco smirked as astonishingly Lily immediately ran to obey his command. _Still got it,_ _Draco,_ _old mate,_ _still got_ it. He groaned inwardly. Sweet Circe, he was even _thinking_ like a muggleborn now! Astoria and Scorpius were to blame, persuading him to watch muggle movies and muggle TV.

"Well, you know when they all stand behind each other," the indefatigable little voice blithely continued; "and then they sing that song? We could do that!"

"I know it, I know it!" Lily cried excitedly. "Shove out the way, Hugo. I'm the best dancer!"

"Owww! My Friend's Dad, Lily stood on my foot!"

"It wasn't on purpose, crybaby."

"I never said it was on my purpose, I said it was on my foot."

"Will you two stop arguing?"

"My Friend's Dad, Rose is being nasty to me!"

"We need seven kids though. Scorp, do you think your Dad could be one of the kids?"

"Dunno, Alb, ask him."

What the hell were they doing now? The Slytherin didn't dare turn around to check but he could feel the long cloak of his best robes being pulled here, there and everywhere. Even worse, yet another of their peculiar conversations was evolving. It was like witnessing the birth of the Wizarding Universe and the earliest method of communication known to wizardkind. There was nothing for it but to keep his wand trained on the corrupt cat and disregard the cloak attack. The latter being no mean feat as the constant tugging made it extremely difficult to remain steady.

"Oh, it's okay, Scorp, your Dad's already dancing!"

" _So long, f_ _arewell..."_ The sing-song tones sounded suspiciously like the smallest witch. The tap-tapping of tiny footsteps kicking against his heels confirmed it.

"That's not how it begins! It begins something about a cuckoo clock." ******

" _Cuckoo!"_

"Lily, you don't sing Cuckoo yet!"

"Shut up, Albus, I'll sing Cuckoo if I want to sing Cuckoo. _Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!"_

"I wanna sing that too!"

"Okay, Hugo, after three. One, two, three _Cuckoo!"_

" _Cuckoo!"_

The youngest Potter and the youngest Granger were holding on to his deep robe pockets (perhaps they missed his sleeves; they'd been very attached to those sleeves) peeking out, then hiding behind him again.

" _Cuckoo!"_

" _Cuckoo!"_

Once again they ducked back behind after their brief appearance and announcement. God, they were scary.

"I am not singing a crappy song from a crappy movie _and_ dancing!" Interesting turn of events, Draco reflected, while eyeballing Boots and hoping he wouldn't come to regret his uncharacteristic bravery later. The eldest Potter evidently had a mind of his own. His father probably would have agreed to dance a jig backwards if it kept everybody happy.

"Well, you can sing _or_ dance then. Which one do you want to do?"

"Are you trying to be funny, Scorpius?"

"What?" Scorpius was genuinely baffled. It seemed a perfectly reasonable compromise.

" _Cuckoo!"_

" _Cuckoo!"_

"You all are," James grumbled. Draco never thought he would agree with a Potter but he wholeheartedly shared the same sentiments.

" _I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly..."_ Albus was really getting into the swing of things. He knew all the words. After all, he'd sung this song with Nanny Molly last Christmas, when he got a _sing-along-to-all-the-shows-without-stopping-spel_ _l_. Several times. In fact, should we wish to be pedantic, precisely two hundred and twenty-two times, according to Rose's gift from Uncle Harry of a _calculate-whatever-you-wish-to-calculate-whenever-you-wish-to-calculate-charm_. It was the first time in history anyone could ever recollect Molly Weasley insisting it was time she took a break from everyone now.

 _"_ _Cuckoo!"_

" _Cuckoo!"_

" _Cuckoo!"_

"Scorpius, it's not your turn!"

"Eldest Granger," Draco whispered, as the troops argued among themselves. He felt a shuffle beside him and breathed a sigh of relief as Rose appeared with Trimblefeathers perched on her shoulder. It was like being commander of a crazy army but having the saving grace of a dependable, competent and highly intelligent lieutenant. "It may take a while due to the time zone, but Boots _is_ going to materialize eventually," he revealed, talking out of the side of his mouth in order not to break his cat vigil. "We need to formulate an escape plan."

"Okay," Rose agreed without turning a hair, as if formulating escape plans was something folk did every day. "What are we escaping from?"

"Boots, of course, Lieu...Granger."

"But she's just a cat."

"A highly dangerous cat," he corrected.

Rose regarded Boots with renewed interest. Boots returned the look and purred sweetly "Oh, isn't she cute, Mr Malfoy! Did you know Mum and Dad used to have a beautiful cat called Crookshanks?" She continued chattily. "I've seen pics of him chasing a mouse and carrying it live in his mouth as a gift for Mum years and years before they got married. Crookshanks, I mean, not Dad."

"Your Dad married someone called Crookshanks before he married your Mum?" A white-blond head paused from singing to peep round in astonishment, having only heard half the story above the din of Trimblefeathers' hooted approval at the mention of a mouse. He hated cats but he was very fond of mice. Roasted, grilled, fried or raw, he really wasn't fussy.

"No, I didn't mean _Dad_ married Crookshanks, I mean he..."

"Scorpius, get back in the ranks!"

Scorpius had no choice but to do so. Loudly objecting to it not being his turn to yell Cuckoo, Lily and Hugo were dragging him backwards.

"Crookshanks was not beautiful. Boots is not cute. And even if they were looks can be deceptive," Draco informed his second-in-command, trembling a little as Boots hissed at him more ferociously than ever. "I may the most devastatingly handsome wizard ever to walk this planet but a long, long time ago I was a Death Eater."

"But could you still hear your knife and fork?" Hugo asked seriously.

"Don't be silly, he was dead," Lily scoffed.

"My Dad has never been dead. Have you, Dad?" Scorpius questioned doubtfully.

" _I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly..."_

"Look, if I'm going to sing any of this crappy song, I say what you all do. Albus, stop singing the same lines over and over!"

"But I like them best. _I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly..."_

Rose, Draco and Trimblefeathers all gasped in unison. Screeching like a wildcat, Boots was finally emerging from her strange chrysalis. Except she was growing taller. Plumper. Curlier and blonder and well-dressedier and spectaclesier and scarfier and...oh, to hell with it. It's probably easier to tell you she didn't look like anything like Boots any more instead of making up (rather interesting) words. She looked uncannily like...

 **A/N:** Haha, I'll tell you next chapter! :D Sorry for the delay in updating. It didn't work out where I moved to so I moved house again!

 ****** So Long, Farewell (Rodgers&Hammerstein) The Sound of Music


	17. Chapter 17

_For adding this fic to your Favourites and Alerts and me to Author Favourite and Author Alert_ _thank you_ _to_ _:-_

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 *****chapter 17*****

 *****Room on the Broom*****

And at last the cocoon, like a gently-bobbing silver-grey balloon that yearned to see the world but was too timid yet to begin its journey, floated slightly upwards and Boots dropped down. Except she was no longer Boots. She was a plump, bespectacled woman with blonde curly hair, impeccably dressed in chiffon neck-scarf, tailored trouser-suit and trim black heels, who carried a handbag, quill, parchment and air of superiority...and was somehow vaguely familiar. Then suddenly he knew...

"Rita Skeeter!" Draco gasped.

The one thus addressed screeched in indignation while shaking off the last vestiges of cat hair from her blonde curly locks, and keeping an eye on the parchment now suspended above and upon which the quill had begun to write. "How dare you accuse me of being that...that common hack! _I_ am Zita Neater, _reputable_ journalist." She adjusted her glasses to peer up at him. Of course she would have preferred to peer _down_ at him but height restrictions – Zita being five foot three and Draco towering somewhere far above in the lofty realms of six feet or thereabouts - rather prevented it.

"Oh, you exist!" Rose exclaimed in delight.

"Of course I exist, you silly little girl. What do you think I am?"

"I read about you in a book. You're a shadow-twin." The tangle-haired witch calmly supplied the answer.

"A what?" Draco demanded, holding his wand aloft at the...creature. Even though the... creature, perhaps believing she had already outstayed her welcome, appeared to be...well, disappearing. Zita Neater clutched her arm – my profound apologies, dearest reader, I meant to say _half_ an arm; its other half, having made up its mind to explore the mysteries of the silvery-grey cloud still hovering nearby, was immediately vanishing away into it.

"A shadow-twin," Rose repeated. "The book about it said;" she frowned in thought, and quoted verbatim from memory; "Witches and wizards who create an animagus can often also accidentally create a shadow-twin. Because the shadow-twin is not real, however, it will never be seen unless time is disturbed, usually through faulty apparating. ( _Draco winced; due to his Malfoy arrogance in believing everything he did was perfect without having to try_ _too hard,_ _his apparating abilities left a lot to be desired_.) Shadow-twins are similar to, but not quite the same as, the caster, and, being imaginary, can create anything from other people's thoughts, even their own animagus, On a newspaper assignment about time-travel, Rita Skeeter once met her shadow-twin and they hated..."

"Water-melon, like me?" Scorpius suggested,

"Going to bed early?" Hugo piped up.

"Crappy songs from crappy movies?" James supplied sarcastically, growing tired of what sounded suspiciously like a school lesson.

"Hush!" Draco commanded, shuddering in horror at his unSlytherin-like politeness, and wondering why he didn't just cast a hex to shut them all up. He'd totally degenerated into Hufflepuffianism these days.

"...each other," Rose continued, unperturbed by the crazy questions surrounding her, being well used to them. Indeed, she was quite happy to produce her own whenever opportunity knocked.

Huffing and puffing rather proudly at the commotion she'd caused, Zita Neater successfully pulled her rapidly-disappearing arm ( _it really was a dreadful inconvenience, owning an arm that went off on its travels when nobody wanted it to_ ) out of the cloud and clicked her tongue. "Enough of your inane babbling. So I'm not real, am I? I'll show you ignorant imbeciles. _I_ have far superior magical powers. Forget owling, sooo yesterday's news, dahhhlings, my story's being telepathically transported to the Daily Prophet as we speak." She cleared her throat and read aloud from the parchment that dangled above where the quill scribbled furiously across the page: "Exclusive Breaking News of the Decade from our most talented roving reporter Zita Neater and DEFINITELY NOT Rita Skeeter. It would seem notorious Death Eater Draco Malfoy is up to his old Death Eater tricks. Malfoy, who has developed the mad stare of one deranged ( _it was true Draco was_ _glaring at her_ ) and become extremely unkempt, wearing ragged, filthy, worn clothing, doubtless due to this dangerous desperado hiding out in The Forbidden Forest, is brainwashing bands of children into following him in his twisted pureblood ideology and..." Zita broke off and looked at Rose in awe. "Never!"

Rose nodded emphatically.

"But this...but this could be my next big scoop!"

"Yes," Rose agreed, and decorated a second nod with a big smile.

"What are you doing?" Draco queried uneasily, his Slytherin instincts on red – or perhaps I should say green - alert. Too many witches and wizards already thought he still stood on the wrong side of the law and vicious and untrue stories like Zita Neater was writing could cost him everything if they believed it. He needed his Lieutenant on the ball, not distracted by helping aspiring journalists further their careers.

Rose, however, ignored him, and kept her intent gaze on Zita. Who suddenly squealed. And, as uninvited guests were apt to do in these rather unpredictable and troubled times, vanished. Yes, reader, parchment, quill, backpacking half-an-arm and all. Gone! No more! History! Zilch! Vamoosed! Ahem. Sorry, got a bit carried away...

In her place was a gigantic broomstick being sniffed at by a puzzled black cat.

"Huh! I could do magic like that standing on my head _if I really wanted to,"_ James grumbled, wisely adding the proviso in case he was challenged to either produce such magic or stand on his head or both, the memory of his failure to create chocolate and ungrateful, chocolate-less customers still fresh in his mind.

Draco looked nervously at the cat, perplexedly at the broomstick and with wary admiration at Eldest Granger. Clever, sneaky, secretive. Never in the whole history of Hogwarts was there a more suitable candidate for Slytherin. "How did you…?"

"Easy." Rose shrugged. "I just did Telling Time Travel. You know - the book?" She added when General Malfoy looked blank. She shook her bushy head reprovingly when he looked more baffled than ever. "You really should read more, Mr Malfoy, I learnt how to tell time travel in Year 1. To work out where time has gone you multiply zero by how much time has passed and then divide by the nick of time, subtract all the time with time flying by, add on any wasted time, and the answer will always be zero."

"But if the answer will always be zero..." Draco began, then thought better of it. If the little witch said it, there had to be a logic in there somewhere albeit a logic far beyond his intellectual capabilities.

Rose paused politely but as the unfinished question remained hanging unnurtured in the air took up her tale once more. "Zita Neater said she was using telepathy transport so I thought if she read your mind to make an animagus I could make her look into my mind and make something to get us out of here and as we're stuck where time flies by I could get her to make transport to fly by time so I thought of a giant broomstick. See?"

"Ummm..." Draco stalled, hopelessly lost in translations and complications. Fortunately, there came a timely (see what I did there? :D) interruption.

The argument over whether or not James could have done such magic having reached its natural conclusion ie Scorpius, Albus, Lily and Hugo demanding their earlier orders be fulfilled then and James insisting his feelings had been too deeply hurt by their lack of faith to even try, and as all participants had sore throats and a healthy glow from shouting at each other, the little group had begun to happily disperse when Scorpius's attention was diverted by a loud miaow.

"Boots! I forgot all about you thanks to James rambling on!" Scorpius cried in delight, about to run over to her, but his father held him back. "Don't go any closer, son. It's bound to be a trick."

"No, it's okay," Rose reassured, busy consoling Trimblefeathers, who from her shoulder was hooting disapprovingly at the cat's reappearance. Of course, being a wizarding owl, Trimblefeathers would never dream of attacking a cat but he felt protocol demanded he register his protest. "It really is Boots now. The magic worked backwards when Zita Neater went back so it'll have gone back to when Boots prob'ly got trapped in a faulty apparition and had to wait there for a time."

"I won't even ask," Draco sighed, totally out of his depth now. "Right, let's get back to where we were at the beginning..." He glanced at the Slytherin candidate just in case she disputed whether it was possible to do such a thing in a time warp - life here was very confusing - but the frizzy-haired witch seemed perfectly content with his comment. "I'm going to attempt a flying apparation and so I need you all to hold hands to form a chain..."

"Can't we just get on the broomstick?" Rose suggested mildly.

"Ah. Yes. Very good." Draco steepled his long fingers under his chin and tried to look as clever as she was. "Okay, let's get moving! The cat's going last so she can't try any funny business..." He narrowed his eyes at Boots, who, being much better at it, narrowed her eyes right back. "Everyone here before we set off? Eldest Granger, Potty Head One, Potty Head Two, Mad Professor, Dance-Yourself-Dizzy, Scorp..." Draco indicated each with a rap on the head. But the little white-blond head shied away before its due rapping.

"I can't get on the broom, Dad! I need a nickname!"

"You do not. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, occasionally abbreviated to Scorp, is a perfectly fine name. Step lively, you lot!"

But Scorpius was not to be dissuaded. "I could be..." his mind wandered off dreamily. "Scorpius-Starry-Skies – you know, 'cos of my name being about stars - or Star-of-the-Show or..."

"You can't be Star of the Show," Lily objected. " _I_ am."

"Oh, yeh, sorry, Lily! Well, I could be...I need to have a think..."

"But who am I?" Hugo queried.

"Hugo," Albus replied.

"No, who am I _really?"_

"Hugo _Weasley,"_ Rose amended.

"No. _Who_ am I?"

"Hugo Weasley," James repeated.

Hugo sighed. He tugged on Draco's much-maligned sleeve, pulling on a long, thin thread of cotton and wrapping it round his small hand like a skein of wool, confident the fount of all knowledge would have the answer. "What's my name?"

"How should I know?" The fount of all knowledge snapped. "And stop damaging my property, you nincompoop."

"Hugh Nincompoop!" Hugo beamed. "Lily, Lily, I'm Hugh Nincompoop!"

"But you got Mad Professor as well! Mr Mallyfly, I need another nickname! I only got Dancing Lily!" Trusting in his name-dispensing abilities, Lily jumped up to attract attention and caught on to the hood of her mentor's robes to better aid her leap of faith.

"It was not Dancing Lily, it was Dance-Yourself-Dizzy." Draco liked facts to be facts. "And get off my hood," he added tightly. Unfortunately, it was at that very moment the Slytherin-green hood chose to rather rudely announce, and after many years and their chequered history together, it was parting company with the Slytherin-green dress robes.

"Sweet Circe!" At the sound of the loud rip, Draco gave up. He buried his head in his hands in despair. He had nothing left. Not even pride.

"I'm Dancing Lily and Sweet Circe," Lily proudly announced to Hugo as she dropped to the ground clutching the last remnants of a Slytherin robe's dignity.

Meanwhile James was thoughtfully working hard on Scorpius's dilemma, "You could be Scorpiuso-Hyperiono-Malfoylyte – you know, short for Scorpius."

"You mean Scorpius for short," Draco mumbled into his hands. If you can't beat them, might as well get dragged down with them.

"No. His name's _already_ Scorpius, Mr Malfoy," James explained patiently. "So Scorpiuso-Hyperiono-Malfoylyte for short."

"Cool!" Scorpius said, impressed. "Dad, can you call me Scorpiuso-Hyperi..."

"No, Scorpius, I most certainly cannot." Draco lifted his brain-zapped head and plucked himself out of the sanity-stealing conversation, feeling as though he had just narrowly escaped being sucked into a bizarre universe where civilisation no longer existed. A Malfoy never begged but these were desperate time travelling times being multiplied, subtracted, added, nicked and divided. "Please," he said wearily. "Can you all just get on the broom? Please."

And at long last someone took pity. Rose clapped her hands. "Listen up! When I give the signal, everybody on board. Mr Malfoy first, then Scorp, Albus, Hugo, Lily and James, I'll go last with Trimblefeathers, and, Boots, you're last too, 'cos Mr Malfoy's scared of you. And if either of you don't like it, we're leaving without you, got it?"

Draco could only watch, stunned. Bossiness, boldness, bolshiness. Was there no end to this witch's talents? Apparently not. "NOW!" She gave an ear-splitting whistle.

When Rose spoke, there was no choice but to obey. He found himself caught up in the mad melee, scrambling to take his allocated place.

"All present, Mr Malfoy," Rose reported. "Go!"

He raised his wand and prepared for take-off. This was it. No going back now. Well, maybe there was but he hoped there wasn't, things were complicated enough as it was. He gripped the broomstick with his free hand, took three or four runs and pointed skywards.

And then they were airborne…


	18. Chapter 18

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 *****Chapter 18*****

 *****Homeward Bound*****

"Hold tight," the pale wizard ordered his army, his knuckles turning white – yes, okay, but being pedantic doesn't suit you - much, _much_ whiter as he gripped the broomstick. The children held tight, whooping for joy.

"It's okay, Mr Malfoy, it's impossible to fall off 'cos we're not back in real time till we land," Rose shouted, from where she and James were flanking the rear. "But to get us back you need to _really_ concentrate. Keep thinking apparate!"

"Apparate," Draco said through clenched teeth. It was all very well for Lieutenant Granger. Not everybody could get into apparate mode at the drop of a witch's hat. The broomstick alternated between rising, dipping and wobbling, and barely moved any further forward.

"Apparate! _Apparate!_ _"_ Rose reminded him through the air turbulence.

"Apparate!" Wondering if their chauffeur had actually heard – judging by his abysmally poor driving skills it would appear he hadn't - James cupped his hands over his mouth to yell even louder. "APPARATE!"

"Apparate! Apparate!" Draco agreed, with a sigh. What did they _think_ he was trying to do?

"Apple hate! Apple hate!" Hugo joyously joined in the delightful chant.

"Apparate! Apparate! Apparate!" Scorpius, Albus and Lily had no idea what was going on but were quite prepared to enter into the spirit of things.

The perfectionist in Hugo however felt the refrain was becoming rather too repetitive. It needed imagination, a little fine tuning and some updated lyrics and he gallantly took the burden upon his small, thin shoulders. "Baaa-naaaannn-aaaa- haaate...ohhhh, baaa-naaaannn... "

Music never failed to stir Albus's poetic Hufflepuffian soul and he quickly picked up the gist of the new song.

"Piiiineaaaapple haaate! Ohhh, piiiineaaaapple haaate, oh, pineapple, pineapple, pineapple haaate..."

It looked set to be a smash hit and take _The Magical World's Got Talent_ by storm if the general public's reaction was anything to go by, for Scorpius was up next. "Waaaterrrmelllon haaate! Ohhh, waaaaaaterrrmelllon haaate!"

"Baaanaaaannnaaaa haaa...Owww! My Friend's Dad, Lily's digging me in the back!"

"Well, you shouldn't be in the way when I'm trying to dance," Lily protested, frustrated by the impossibility of being able to stand while swinging her legs and clapping her hands in time to the random beat - or _was_ it an impossibility…? Gingerly, using Hugo as leverage, she began to…

"My Friend's Dad, Lily's trying to stand uppp...aaahhhhh!" He wailed dramatically as Lily pressed down on his shoulders.

"Mr Mallfly, Hugo's being a big baby!"

Draco was at the end of his tether. "Will the pair of you just shut down and sit up! I mean..."

He lost his train of thought as Astoria and the Gryffindor goons suddenly hove into view, gazing open-mouthed at the zig-zagging broomstick above and thus didn't correct his dubious advice. Which didn't matter anyway, as Hugo and Lily thought it quite an interesting concept and immediately sat ramrod straight, fists clenched and eyes squeezed tight shut albeit warbling together, "Baaa-naaaannn-aaaa- haaate...ohhhh, baaa-naaaannn..."

Meanwhile Albus and Scorpius joined forces to perform their own duet like two drunken old wizards staggering down Diagon Alley after a Friday night out at The Leaky Cauldron.

"Piiineapple haaate, ohhh, waaatterrrmelllon haaate, ohhh, pineapple, pineapple, pineapple, watermelon, watermelon, watermelon haaate..."

(I do feel obliged to add, lest my readers are shocked and saddened by the tender ages of those harbouring such venom towards innocent fruits, and concerned by my blasé attitude in reporting it all, none felt any particular prejudice against apples, bananas, pineapples or watermelons beyond a slight distaste - indeed, Lily actually _liked_ bananas – and therefore letters of outrage are wholly unnecessary and will be duly ignored.)

"Apparate! Apparate!" Rose and James shouted out like a rap chorus, above the din of the flash mob singers, a hooting Trimblefeathers and a caterwauling Boots.

"Apparate!" The blond Slytherin did his damnedest to focus. The broomstick zoomed onwards a short distance, seemingly unable to make up its mind about where and when it wanted to go, and must have concluded to-ing and fro-ing was an ideal compromise.

"Draco, at las...oh, he's gone!" Astoria was left talking to empty space as the whirlwind tourists hovered briefly to look down at the sights, then hurried on by.

"Don't worry, he's turning around," Harry said reassuringly, watching the magical transport complete a splendid U-turn.

"But he's going away again now," Ginny pointed out, as the broomstick abruptly swivelled around once more.

"Nope, must have forgotten something, he's coming back," Ron observed drily.

"I'll cast a zoom-in, check what's going on." Hermione efficiently cast the brand new spell as she spoke, and for a handful of seconds was able to see and hear the indecisive sightseers close up as though watching them on live TV. And it was a very impressive reality show. The pilot and rear seat passengers were rapping, the middle passengers singing in an odd mix of alto, soprano, baritone and tenor (whichever suited their mood of the moment) while Boots and Trimblefeathers kept up a cacophony of screeches and wails presumably as background accompaniment.

"What's he doing?" Harry asked, concerned by his friend's stunned expression as the spell faded and her gaze returned to normal.

"He's leading the kids in a sing-song. And a cat and an owl." Hermione frowned, mystified by what she had just witnessed. Was Malfoy the victim of some obscure curse?

"Ah, yes, he does things like that by accident sometimes," Astoria said calmly.

All heads swivelled round to stare at the pretty dark-haired witch in astonishment. Even with the "by accident" clause, a Draco Malfoy organising sing-songs didn't sound like a Draco Malfoy any of them knew.

Astoria smiled and shrugged. Draco understood facts, figures and potions. It threw him when anyone didn't stick to the pattern. And kids never did. Much as he loved Scorpius, children were a complete mystery to him. Her mind wandered back to the time he had arranged to meet her at the muggle kindergarten where she worked to go out for lunch together while Scorpius was at school. Except he arrived much too early and his wife, as yet unaware of his presence, was in the office still writing out the morning's reports. And so, without considering the consequences, having been cleared by security, he stepped over the tiny tots in the kindergarten playground.

A blood-curdling cry was the first indication the witch had of anything being wrong. She leapt up at once and ran at the speed of light out into the playground, where to her surprise the two young muggle helpers were bent double with laughter and the toddlers happily playing a rowdy game of jumping on something she couldn't see. And then she heard a muffled plea underneath the rugby scum: "Help, somebody! Get them off! Call them off!"

When Tori had wiped away her own tears of mirth and rescued her spouse, she told him that the children had obviously mistaken him for Richard, a play therapy expert, who was due that afternoon and planned to dress as a dragon to give the kiddies rides, but the Slytherin remained stony-faced and did not find that irony even funnier as Astoria did. The kids, the kindergarten assistants, the caretaker/security guard and kitchen staff peeking out of the kitchen windows regarded Draco with varying degrees of bafflement, alarm, amusement and curiosity as he finally left for lunch with his wife, warily walking backwards with his arm held aloft. Only Astoria knew that if he hadn't been in muggle suburbia there would definitely have been a wand there.

She opened her mouth to explain how he often got himself into these situations but got no further, for the broomstick turned, loop-de-looped several dizzying times, and then crash landed…


	19. Chapter 19

_For your lovely review of Chapter 18 and adding this fic to Story Alerts, thank you to:-_

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 _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic. The story is AU._

 *****chapter 19*****

 *****A Rose by Any Other Name*****

Fortunately, Rose was quite correct in her assertion they would all be perfectly safe until they hit real time and as that didn't happen until they hit _terra firma_ the passengers landed unscathed. Apart from the broomstick over-aged boy racer - who looked decidedly green (a rather becoming match with his tattered robes) as he staggered into Astoria's embrace. And Ron couldn't resist a jab. For all he was relieved nobody, including Malfoy, was hurt and would have brought the Slytherin safely back when he volunteered to do so, well, the nemesis of his schooldays was home and dry now and it was too good an opportunity to miss.

"Still can't ride a broomstick without getting giddy, Draco?" He tsked. "Maybe some remedial broomstick lessons...?"

"Sod off, Weasel Brain Wonder Wanker." Draco glared, in no mood for the flame-haired Gryffindor. He had suffered a terrible, terrible ordeal. Not the weird wand, nor the twisted time, nor even the fearsome feline. No, no, no. Left alone with _them._ _Them._ They had been...scary. They still were.

And now _T_ _hey_ were dusting themselves down and unhurriedly alighting upon a totally unprepared world. Chattering away amongst themselves as though lately arrived back from a leisurely shopping trip.

"Wow! Your Dad's dead good at nicknames, Scorp," Albus said admiringly.

"Yeh, he gets loads of practice." Scorpius proudly accepted the praise by proxy. "He calls your Mum and Dad and Rose's Mum and Dad all kinds of names when there's photos of them in Witches and Wizards Weekly and your Mum and Dad and Rose's Mum and Dad are always in it."

His friend sighed longingly. "I only got Potty Head Two though. James got Potty Head One so I thought I might've got a different one. Can you ask him to do me another one as well?"

"No worries. Anyone else want more?"

"Me! I spent ages doing Scorpiuso-Hyperiono-Malfoylyte so I should get about four more really." James felt very hard done by.

"Okay, one for Albus, four for James." Scorpiuso-Hyperiono-Malfoylyte (short for Scorpius) nodded in brisk, business-like manner, tapping one finger and then four fingers against his palm to make a mental note.

"I got Sweet Circe and Dancing Lily," Lily said smugly. "What did you get, Rose?"

"Eldest Granger. I think I got Lieutenant as well."

"I got Mad Professor and Hugh Nincompoop."

"Want to swap?" Albus asked hopefully. "I'll trade you Potty Head Two for Mad Professor."

"Nu-uh!" Hugo was on top for once and he wasn't giving up the throne easily.

It was terrifying to think one day they would grow up and inherit the wizarding universe but at this moment Draco had more pressing matters on his mind. The stony expressions of Granger, Potter, the Weasel and the Weaselette did not bode well.

"Sorry we're late. We didn't know what time it was." Misinterpreting the adults' disapproving looks as being due to their unpunctuality, Rose hopped off the broomstick, casually dismissing being trapped in a time warp as one of life's little hiccups, and nonchalantly linked arms with Scorpius as the pair prepared to stroll leisurely towards Draco, one looking forward to a meeting of minds to discuss recent events and the other to - albeit reluctantly, his street cred could be compromised here, but Mum looked so heartbreakingly delighted to see him and was reaching out the arm that wasn't holding Dad – be gathered to his mother's bosom once more.

James frowned in thought. Rose had a point. "Yeah. Mum, what time do you think you call this?"

"Rose Granger-Weasley, come back here this instant!" Hermione roared, drowning out his question.

And then everything happened fast. Ultra fast. James had allowed himself to become distracted and blood-curdling screams emitted from him, Albus and Lily as Ginny somehow managed to capture all three in a fierce Molly-hug. Rose about-turned, returning so slowly it was hard to tell she was moving at all. Scorpius was helpless to resist the sweeping oncoming tide of both his parents. Oh, but Hugo! _Hugo!_ Hugo seized his chance and made good his escape!

"Hugo!" Ron was already chasing after his youngest (and most baffling) child. "What the blazes are you running away for?"

But Hugo couldn't answer his pater's question. Because he didn't know. It was instinct. If Rose was in trouble, it was a fair bet he was too. In fact, he was more likely to be the culprit. The fact he knew running would have no bearing on the inevitable punishment of no chocolate frogs for the foreseeable future or having his jar of children's lucky mini-charms confiscated or being grounded for a week was a moot point. The opportunity presented itself and Hugo, being a man of action, took advantage of it. The whys and wherefores were superfluous to requirements.

Almost a century ago, a large oak tree, rather inconsiderately in the little boy's opinion, had decided to plant itself exactly where it stood now – slap bang in the middle of his route. And with Dad approaching from the right and Uncle Harry ( _ever ready to oblige, be it war heroism or heroically rounding up friends' kids_ ) fielding left, there was no place else to go. Except, of course, backwards. Accordingly, leaving the adults to collide with one another, Hugo swivelled round, caught up with his funeral-footed big sister and overtook her.

"You go, Hugo, Huge Nincompoop!" Rose yelled, hoping to distract her Mum with a clever play on words and slight sibling quarrel in order to continue merrily on her interrupted journey, and she slowed her pace yet more, relishing the sound of the interesting new expression on her tongue. She had only heard it for the first time when Mr Malfoy introduced it during the naming ceremony. Such an interesting word. So many possibilities. So much to discuss with her time travelling mentor.

Scorpius had finally been granted his liberty after the emotional family reunion, as had the three Potters. He and the trio were coming towards Rose like tributaries to a river, Trimblefeathers flying overhead and Boots, ever distrustful of the wizarding owl, stalking warily behind.

Hugo meanwhile screeched to a halt. This just might work. If he wasn't Hugo, he couldn't be blamed for Hugo's misdemeanours.

Hermione stooped down to her small son. "Oh, Hugo! We've been so worried about you all."

Hugo stared gravely at his mother. "I'm not Hugo." He spoke in monotone. Reader, we are not privy to how imaginary alter egos behave but it would seem Hugo was and presumably it was what alter egos did. "I'm Hugh Nincompoop. My Friend's Dad said so."

Merlin's beard, what kind of twisted prejudiced nonsense had Malfoy been subjecting the poor kids to? The brightest witch of her age scooped him up and held him tight, kissing his bushy head of hair over and over. Which Hugo thought a very good result for Hugh Nincompoop though he envied him the maternal fuss.

Harry and Ron were occupied in picking themselves up off the ground, trying to pretend they'd meant to crash into each other all along, ho-ho-ho-ing, casting reparos and scourgifies and scouring charms, laughing loudly to cover their embarrassment and hopefully avoid attention. Which meant, instead of everyone ignoring the incident, all eyes turned towards the stars of the show to watch with great interest.

"Harry, I don't know why you're bothering to tidy your hair," Ginny remarked, as the wizard prepared to cast his wand over his messy dark locks. "It's never going to be as neat as, say, Malfoy's. Usually is," she amended, suddenly realising the Slytherin looked like he'd been through the wringer. Draco's smirk vanished and he scowled.

"It's okay," Astoria whispered. Being the only one aware that despite all his bravado he was still traumatised and shaking.

"So...insulting kids, eh?" Ron continued where he'd left off, winding up his childhood enemy. "That's a new low, even for you, Malfoy."

"Ferret Face," James chipped in.

"What?" Ginny demanded guiltily.

"Ferret Face. That's what you all call Mr Malfoy when he isn't here," James explained patiently.

"Not bad," Scorpius approved. "But my Dad's better at them. Prob'ly got the idea from my Dad calling Rose's Dad Weasel Face."

"Uncle Ron calls him Dragon Pox as well," Albus added, like his father always ready to lend a helping hand. "And Pointy Features. And..."

"Yes, okay, Albus, James, thank you very much for your contributions," Harry cut in hastily.

"Oh, no worries, Dad. I didn't think of them, Uncle Ron did, " Albus said modestly.

"Ha, ha, all in good fun," Ron said nervously, with Astoria looking daggers at him. Even Voldemort would have wilted under that gaze.

"But people only give _nice_ nicknames to their friends," Rose observed. "And we all got _nice_ nicknames."

"No. you didn't." Draco's world was teetering off kilter again. The nicknames were sarcastic. Meant to be a reflection of their paragons-of-virtue parents. They weren't supposed to _like_ them. Even if all did have – he jumped as he realised – a twinge of affection in their allocated sobriquets.

"I like being Dancing Lily," Lily tap-danced two or three steps ahead of her brothers.

"Dance-Yourself-Dizzy," Draco muttered petulantly. Why couldn't she ever get it right?

"Look, let's all forget about the playground taunts." Hermione set Hugo down and regarded Ron sternly. "We've far more important matters to attend to. Draco, we need to know. Was it...was it really bad in the time zone?"

He nodded. "The strange creatures were trying to suck out my sanity!" He clutched his wife tightly at the memory, not caring what the Gryffindor Goons thought. It just felt so good, so safe, to be at a little distance from the six children.

"Dementors…?" Harry exchanged a puzzled glance with Hermione. "I thought they were all gone now."

The Brightest Witch frowned. "They won't be Dementors, Harry, but sounds like the ancient wand has done a lot of damage. Mal...Draco, we _must_ stop any more witches and wizards falling victim. I can try a rare Eliminate spell, but it's very tough to pinpoint so I need to know _exactly_ where you think the creatures were. Or even may be now."

"There." Still too busy processing Rose's earth-shattering revelation and not really listening, Draco vaguely waved his arm in the direction of Scorpius. "And there." He indicated Rose. "And there too." Hugo, ambling over to join his friends, was next to be selected. "And some over there." The arm damned James, Albus and Lily.

Dreading what horrors the ancient wand might have unleashed for the mysterious strange creatures Malfoy referred to be so close to the kids, Hermione could only pray her aim would be sure as she lifted her wand…


	20. Chapter 20

__For your__ _ _very kind__ _ _review__ _ _s__ _ _of Chapter 1__ _ _9,__ _ _thank you to:-__

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 _ _ **A/N:**__ _I will never ask for reviews, but receiving them, and being favourited or followed,_ _always makes my day._ _Thank you so much._ _:_ _)_ _W_ _hile we're on the subject, like many people on here, I sometimes re-read_ _ **Bex-chan's**_ _brilliant fic_ _ **Isolation**_ _._ _And has anyone ever noticed how occasionally she gets a really_ _strange_ _negative_ _review?_ _I can't decide if the reviewers are jealous of her writing talent, trying to get attention for their own badly-written fics or internet trolls. It's just...weird._

 _ _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic.__ _ _ **The story is AU.**__

 *****chapter 20*****

 ******* **Coming Together*****

Hermione Granger was widely regarded, and not without some justification, as the brightest witch of her age. Her skill with charms and spells, her ability to use logic, think ahead and solve many a knotty magical problem was phenomenal. It was often said that there was nothing Hermione Granger didn't know and what she didn't know wasn't worth knowing. But she certainly didn't know Draco Lucius Malfoy would screech unintelligibly while simultaneously snatching up six small children in a flying rugby tackle.

Hermione did not believe in Divination. She only wished she did. This particular puzzle might have been something worth knowing beforehand.

"Malfoy, is there a reason you stupidly interrupted a very, very dangerous spell to eliminate the strange creatures you saw? Those possible _Dark beings?"_ the bushy-haired, brown-eyed witch demanded, furiously shaking the wand to block any lingering magic.

Draco scowled. What the blazes did she think? "Oh, no, no! I just thought, what with the sun shining and it being such a beautiful day, it was the perfect time to dive on the grass and take six blithering idiots with me," he snapped, cautiously watching the rugby-tackled children from the corner of his eye. They were still being scary. They had righted themselves and sat beside him on the grass. Three at either side. Three. Exactly. At each side. Why? _Why?_

Being very careful to ensure it was his best sleeve on show, as he spoke the pale blond wizard raised his palm towards the innocent skies from whence the sulky clouds were breaking to reveal tantalising patches of blue and from whence dismal grey rain no longer dared fall. It was an ill thought out move, as we shall come to see.

"I don't think there _were_ any, Hermione," Astoria said in a stage whisper. "Draco calls all kids strange creatures, you see. They're unpredictable. It scares him. Give him a few minutes. He'll be fine after some quiet time."

"I see." Hermione nodded in sudden understanding. "So he was making sure none of the kids got hurt…?"

"Malfoy being a hero? That's way more scary!" Ron declared. "It's not...natural."

And he, Hermione, Harry and Ginny regarded Astoria sympathetically.

Now Hugo, as we have noted, was a man of action. A sleeve billowing gently under an upraised palm was a challenge too tempting to resist.

"My Friend's Dad lets me swing on his sleeves when we go apple hating!" The curly-haired little wizard announced, latching on to the very item and giving an impressive demonstration. The more Draco tried to shake him off, the more Hugo clung on like a limpet, whooping for joy.

A shadow fell over the grass. Albus sat himself down in front of the Slytherin, his countenance extremely grave. "Oh, Mr Malfoy!" He said, his voice laced with deep disappointment. "You must not teach Hugo to hate apples. My Mum says it's very wrong to teach children hate."

Draco glared at Potty Head Two, who stared back piously. Well, he was damned if he was he going to stand here– _sit_ here; he'd learned he had to be very precise with the scary little wizards and witches unless he wanted to be trapped forever in one of their baffling conversations – being falsely accused.

"I most certainly did not teach Hugo to hate apples. I personally LOVE apples so why would I teach Hugo to hate apples? I would never, ever dream of teaching Hugo to hate apples. I am confident Hugo will corroborate my statement and proclaim my innocence and I will personally request that he does so immediately. When I find out who Hugo is." He made another valiant attempt to shimmy Mad Professor off but 'twas all in vain.

"He's the kid hanging off the end of your sleeve, Dad," Scorpius supplied the answer to the mystery. "And you shouldn't be swinging him like that. He could fall off."

Draco felt a tug on his other sleeve. Two tiny hands began to experimentally grip the edges. And then there was a sharp inhalation of breath. "It's _torn!"_ the little blonde-haired witch declared in disgust. " _Mis_ _t_ _-_ er Mallyfly! How can I swing on it if it's _torn?"_ Lily regarded him with stern disapproval. He was sure a lesser wizard than he would have withered and died under the terrifying gazes of both Potty Head Two and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy, but he bravely glared back.

"Lily's right," Potty Head One chipped in. "You should take better care of your robes. Especially because you're very poor and you have to keep scourgifying them."

"I am not very poor..."

Merlin's Beard, they were all ganging up on him! If only they he could pretend they weren't there and...Wait! Yes, yes, that was it! If he stared into the distance he could pretend he was not here but far, far away over there and, please Merlin, preserve his crumbling sanity.

"Give Mr Malfoy a break, you guys." He heard Lieutenant Granger thankfully coming to his rescue and felt overwhelming relief. It didn't last long however. "He can't help being poor..."

"I am NOT poor! Will everybody stop saying I am?!" Draco lied, desperately keeping his eyes fast on the distant horizon. There were lots of never-before-tried spells being created nowadays. The wizarding newspapers were full of stories about amazing new magic. Could he send a secret signal to Astoria to collect Scorpius and apple-hate – _apparate!_ – with him?

Rose ignored her time-travelling mentor's protests. "...but he doesn't like anybody knowing about it. Try and see things from his point of view."

"Righty-ho!" James agreed, happy to oblige. And, measuring with thumb and forefinger to ensure he got the line of vision just right, he drew his knees up, wrapped his arms around his legs, and looked intently at the same spot as the Slytherin, his mind reeling with exciting possibilities of what the Things might look like. Green slimy blood-sucking monsters? Eight-legged stomping creatures with two heads and giant fangs? Super-fast flying insects that travelled in their hundreds of thousands to dive-bomb their victims? But though he concentrated hard and blinked several times, he couldn't see anything. Maybe they were like the Thestrals he'd heard about. You only saw them if you'd seen death. He turned hopefully to Scorpius's father. "I don't know anyone who's died yet. Could you sort it?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "Willingly. Except it would land me immediately in Azkaban."

"Oh, wow, would you use a super-duper-powered broomstick to get there?" Scorpius asked eagerly. "Where's Azkaban? What's Azkaban? Is it a holiday? Can I come? Can we stay there? Seeing as I never got a go on the sleeve."

"No, me, me! I never got a go on the sleeve as well and Mr Mallyfly likes me 'cos I've got VERY good manners! Get out of the way, _please!"_ Lily unceremoniously elbowed his beloved only child into the mud and took his place.

The other adults could only watch and wonder at the surreal sight of Draco Malfoy surrounded by six children, all clamouring for his attention, a purring cat rubbing her head against his knee ( _Boots had_ _very_ _recently_ _deemed it wise to curry favour with the blond wizard in case she became a certain_ _bird of prey's_ _latest snack_ _although the terrified blond wizard kept edging uneasily away_ ) while an owl circled above his head as though he had found Runner-up to The Chosen One ( _Trimblefeathers, who_ _was rather bored now the time travelling adventure was over, had very recently decided it might be fun to pretend_ _wizarding owls_ _really did snatch_ _cats_ ).

"You know, I had absolutely no idea Draco was so good with kids and animals," Ginny said in breathless awe.

"Do you think we've misjudged him all these years?" Harry asked. "Do you think the Sorting Hat made a terrible, terrible mistake and he should have been Sorted into Hufflepuff?"

"It's highly improbable. But not impossible," Hermione conceded. "The History of Hogwarts cites one other case back in 1154. Tristram Trimpinarty Tripplethwickthwickthwickthwickandslow. A Ravenclaw sorted into Gryffindor. It's believed the Sorting Hat became tongue-tied over his name."

"What happened to him?" Astoria's curiosity was piqued although she didn't believe for a second her husband had ever been Sorted into the wrong House. Draco was Slytherin through and through.

"He went insane."

"Figures." Ron looked at Draco tellingly.

The odd conversation somehow filtered through into Draco's strange-creatures-addled brain. And turned itself into a Eureka moment. Now he understood where the strange creatures got their strangeness from: _they inherited it from their parents!_ Worse, Scorpius was being infected through spending time in the company of the Golden Geeks' offspring. Their only hope was for the Malfoys to get out of here and fast! With grim determination, his father snatched up his loudly objecting son, spoiling his and Albus's fascinating game of splattering mud ( _Albus, concerned readers will be pleased to hear, suffered no ill effects,_ _Scorpius being_ _immediately_ _replaced_ _by James_ ) tucked him under his arm as though he were a rugby ball from the earlier scrum, and stood, one dragon-hide, almost sole-less, foot raised and pointed in Astoria's direction.

He got no further.

"My Friend's Dad's wet himself!" Hugo yelled joyously, kindly pointing out the damp patch on Draco's behind for the benefit of anybody who may have missed it, and jumping up and down with excitement. ( _As did Lily. Albeit with much more panache. It mattered not one iota that Lily didn't know why Hugo was jumping up and down. Having such excellent manners, she thought it would be the height of rudeness not to join in the dancing._ )

"Grass stain," Eldest Granger explained succinctly, in answer to the blond wizard's silent question, as his dragon-hide, almost sole-less shoe came crashing down to earth in shock, and, in the midst of the madness, he turned to the sanest nearby person for reassurance.

While he had great sympathy for anyone who wet their pants - it happened to the best of them, like himself - and felt he and his friend's Dad must be kindred spirits to have so much in common, Hugo abruptly ceased jumping and came to a dead halt as an interesting thought struck him. He and he alone had discovered the wet pants. Wizarding publications the magical world over might well want to talk to him about this earth-shattering event. He'd often noticed Mum, Dad, Auntie Ginny and Uncle Harry rolling their eyes, clicking their tongues and sighing that the wizarding newspapers wanted YET ANOTHER interview about them being war heroes, when _was_ everyone going to get sick of it? No doubt he'd have the same problem. Hugo pictured himself rolling his eyes, clicking his tongue and sighing when _was_ everyone going to get sick of the Wet Pants? In fact, he thought he'd better practice. Now. Adding to a sigh, eye roll and click of his tongue a little intended artistic flourish of flicking back his bushy hair and a little unintended artistic flourish of winking due to not being able to achieve the clicking tongue without it.

Draco shared a baffled glance with Eldest Granger, but Rose was equally baffled and could only shrug in response. If his Lieutenant didn't know, then they really were in trouble.

And things were moving fast. Scorpius was wriggling and close to making good his escape, but Astoria wasn't going to be any help. She was falling about laughing for some reason. ( _It_ _was most peculiar. Astoria had a history of falling about laughing when he was with little wizards or little witches._ )

He would have to mastermind his next move to get his wife, son and himself out of the play-date and safely home alone. Well, not quite. Eldest Granger could always be relied upon for advice. Indeed, now they were such good friends, he wouldn't have minded the wild-haired little witch visiting them one day. And then, when he'd finally fully recovered from his shattered nerves after a long holiday, maybe even the rest of the strange creatures. Confident he would very soon be rescued, again he raised a dragon-hide, almost sole-less foot, this time towards Rose, who looked intrigued.

But then Original Granger threw a curveball. "Draco, thankfully there are no Dark beings to worry about, but it's imperative we find the Ancient Wand to ensure it can't harm anyone ever again. Can you remember where you put it?"

"Ah," he stalled.

In the muddy rain-puddle before them. In a different time zone...


	21. Chapter 21

__For your__ _ _lovely__ _ _and very much appreciated__ _ _reviews__ _ _of Chapter__ _ _20__ _ _,__ _ _thank you to:-__

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I do keep wondering if you're the same person being nice and reviewing twice… :D

 ** **A/N:**** _ _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic__ ** _ _.__** ** _ _ **The story is AU.**__**

 ** ********* ** **chapter 21*******

 ** ********* ** **Sticks and Stones*******

"We need to find the Ancient Wand and destroy it," Hermione explained.

"Oh, you can't, Mum," Rose said matter-of-factly. "It's already ruined."

"Ruined?" Hermione stared at her daughter. The Ancient Wand couldn't be ruined. It was impossible. Very, very powerful magic would be required even to weaken it slightly. She needed to get to the bottom of this mystery.

"My Dad drowned it," Scorpius added.

"My Friend's Dad was learning it to swim and digging for choc'late in the puddle." Hugo's statement, delivered with a confident air of knowledge as the little wizard kindly took time out from his busy schedule of being interviewed by imaginary wizarding reporters, made perfect sense to his peers although five out of six adults (Draco being privy to the wand's exciting adventures and therefore being the exception) remained baffled.

" _Teaching_ it to swim." Rose couldn't abide bad grammar.

"He wasn't learning it to swim." Lily bypassed her cousin's English lesson. "He was learning it to float."

" _Teaching_ it to float!" Rose sighed, raising her eyes and palms Heavenward. "Scorpius's Dad was _teaching_ it to float!"

"Make your mind up, Rose," James said bossily. "Scorpius's Dad can't have been learning the wand to swim and learning it to float at the same time."

"But now I'm all mixed up," Albus complained. He turned to Scorpius, perplexed. "I thought your Dad wanted to play jumping in the puddle?"

"Oh, I think he prob'ly did at first. Then I think he decided to see if he could find any stones or fish or crabs in there." Scorpius's imagination, once unleashed, knew no bounds and he embraced freedom of thought with as much enthusiasm as Hugo. "Then he put the wand in the puddle to see how deep it was. Then I think he got a bit bored and decided to do a magic trick but he couldn't do the trick so then he..."

"Enough!" Draco yelled, giving up on the idea that concentrating on a vague spot in the distance might make it seem he wasn't there. "I was not jumping in puddles, digging for chocolate, or teaching Ancient Wands to swim, float or even dance the tango. For Merlin's sake, Scorpius, will you please..."

"Scorpiuso Hyperiono Malfoylyte," Scorpius corrected. "Dad, will you…?"

"No, no, NO! I am NOT going to call you – or ANYBODY ELSE HERE - Scorpiuso Hyperiono Malfoylytte, short for Scorpius!" Draco glared at Potty Head One, proud creator of the appellation, daring him to argue, and then at Ron Weasley. For good measure. It proved to be a justified glare.

Ron lived up to his foot-in-mouth reputation. "Well, you've certainly excelled yourself with your stupidity this time, Malfoy. How the hell can Scorpiuso Hyperiono Malfoylyte possibly be short for Scorpius?"

"Ask your nephew!" The nerve-shattered Slytherin screeched, actually making Ron jump.

He would have said more except at that moment he felt his wife's fingers lock into his own, instantly calming him. And because, like a bickering long married couple, the two were given to such literary spats, Ron also would have said more except at that moment he felt his wife's warning fist thump his arm, instantly silencing him. The red-headed wizard sucked in an agonised breath at the sudden onslaught of pain. As Draco could have testified, if only Ron had thought to seek his advice, Hermione packed one hell of a punch.

"Look, standing here isn't getting us anywhere," Hermione pointed out, determined to get the conversation back on track and discover the whereabouts of the dangerous wand.

Hugo perked up. "Are we going to apple-hate, Mum? Can I go on My Friend's Dad's sleeve?"

Hermione had learnt long ago - as had Draco albeit very recently and the hard way - that, no matter how bewildering the topic raised, it was prudent to avoid falling into intricate debates with the little wizard. "No, Hugo, we are not going to hate apples." She moved swiftly on as her youngest child drew breath in preparation for the next question. "This is meant to be the kids' play-date so why don't we all go back inside and enjoy the party?"

"Good idea," Harry agreed.

"As long as we walk in and nobody attempts apparition when they're not very good at it," Ginny murmured drily, while Astoria took hold of Scorpius's hand and steered a reluctant Draco, who was watching the children suspiciously, towards the house. "Come on, kids!" She added aloud. "Let's go get something to eat. Hurry up, guys!"

The latter instruction was directed at three Potters and one Granger-Weasley who were lagging behind. For it seemed the foiled debater had decided to take the scenic route and walk around the old oak tree, which he deemed extremely thoughtful of himself because the stubborn old oak tree, having inconveniently planted itself slap bang in the middle of his path over a hundred years ago with no consideration whatsoever for future generations who might want to walk there, made no attempt whatsoever to move out ot his way. But Hugo really, really wanted the interesting black twig that he'd espied in the nearby sunlight-sparkling rain puddle that had played such an interesting part in their time travelling history.

"What's that?" Lily demanded from behind his right shoulder.

"It's a piece of wood, Lily," Albus replied.

"Well...duh." James half regretted that he and his little brother had abandoned their mud fight in order to check out why Hugo was so absorbed in searching the rain-puddle. He'd been hoping for buried treasure at the very least. "What do you want a piece of wood for, Hugo?"

"He doesn't know yet. Do you?" Albus had apparently elected himself Hugo's spokesperson.

"Go 'way, mind your businesses." Hugo made it sound as though his three inquisitive cousins should return immediately to manage corner shops, hairdressers and other assorted small ownership concerns. With one arm held aloft, clutching the first find, he pulled a second mud-coated piece of wood out of the puddle to keep it company. But sadly all too soon it was abandoned and alone in the world once more. Lily promptly snatched the first.

"Thank you!" She announced triumphantly, and then, just as her cousin was preparing for a spectacular scream special, quickly covered her tracks with an admirable display of Slytherin cunning. "Mum, Dad! I was good and remembered my manners and said thank you!"

"Well done, Lils!" Harry shouted back absently, too busy sharing an amused but puzzled glance with Ginny over another matter altogether to give the little witch his full attention.

Hugo was not a man to be trifled with however. "Mum, Dad! Can I magic Lily away forever and ever before I come in?" He yelled, waving the lone twig threateningly at the unimpressed little witch.

"Yeh, okay, Hugo, but don't be too long!" Ron yelled in return just as absently, sharing an equally amused but puzzled glance with Hermione over the Other Matter Altogether.

"Won't work!" Lily sneered at the stick-wielding adversary.

"Will," Hugo argued resolutely.

"Prob won't, Hu," warned James the realist.

"Hugo thinks it might," concluded Albus in his self-appointed role of spokesperson.

"Well, if you magic ME away forever and ever, I'll magic YOU away forever and ever!" Lily didn't specify exactly how she intended to achieve this magical – nay, miraculous – feat.

Hugo was not to be dissuaded. It mattered not a jot that he had no idea what the spell was to make someone disappear. He was an optimist. Any spell would do. And he had often heard grown-ups cast this spell so he knew the words. Or thought he knew the words. "Eggs smell - _E_ _eeeeeeeeeee_ _!_ It's our bus!"

Both Trimblefeathers and Boots were startled at the brand new high-pitched way of pronouncing the third syllable of the expelliarmus spell and reacted accordingly. The young owl screeched while the plump black cat wailed like a banshee.

Oh, but, Reader, just before you become embroiled in the knotty and hypothetical argument of whether someone magicked away forever can magic away forever someone who magicked them away forever, may I quickly, and just for a moment, snatch you away and bring you to view the Other Matter Altogether. _Et voila!_

No, your eyes do not deceive you. This truly is the Malfoy family – and Guest – before your very gaze. Draco links arms with Astoria, Astoria holds Scorpius's hand, and Guest – well, Guest, as you can see, stirs the mix. Hermione and Ron's eldest strolls along with them, holding Draco's hand. If it wasn't for the fact she looks nothing whatsoever like any of the Malfoys and looks a great deal like the Granger-Weasleys, a casual passer-by might be forgiven for believing her to be a Malfoy daughter.

I am quite certain, being a Potterhead, you did not make such a glaring error and I return you safely, if a little annoyed at the interruption, intriguing enough though it was and consequently filed away for your future perusal, to stare at the hooting owl, wailing cat, three little Potters all shouting at once and a wild, bushy-haired, red-faced little fellow waving a stick like an ancient warrior and screaming about eggs and buses.

"Kids! In NOW!" Ginny called, alerted by the noise, and here at last they come, Hugo, Lily, James and Albus, each smiling sweetly, quarrels forgotten.

Ah, but did you see what I saw but seconds ago? When the playful breeze rippled the puddle and brought two more objects swirling to the surface? Albus and James easily caught both twigs. With Boots and Trimblefeathers presumably classing themselves as kids too and following them inside, it was perhaps instinct borne of previous experience being told they could not come indoors with muddy boots or two bags of discarded chocolate frog wrappers still smeared with chocolate or fifty-four painstakingly collected slugs and other similar unreasonable demands that their parents had been known to make over the years, that caused all four children to hide the sticks behind their backs...


	22. Chapter 22

For your much appreciated review of Chapter 21 (my only one! :D) thanks go to: _-_

 ** **Guest****

Also, for your lovely recent review of _Name Games_ (on the off-chance you're reading this story too as NG is complete and I have no other way of contacting you), thanks to:-

 ** **Guest****

It seems I get a lot of guests dropping in on my fics. Maybe I should open a hotel… :D

 ** **A/N:**** _ _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic__ ** _ _ **. The story is AU.**__**

 ** *****chapter 2**** ** **2**** ** *********

 ** ********* ** **Best Laid Plans*******

"I think you can relax now, Draco. They aren't the enemy any more," Astoria whispered in amusement, for her husband sat bolt upright in his chair, one hand tightly gripping Astoria's, the other tightly gripping the still full glass of firewhiskey Harry had poured, staring at the new enemy.

Boots was gazing up at him in fascination and he knew exactly what she was thinking. How soon would it be before he turned into a ferret? What time could she have dinner? Should she eat the ferret all at once or save it to be taken in small doses with her regular cat food as a special treat? Should she eat it all herself or was it etiquette to invite the neighbourhood cats? Decisions, decisions.

Boots studied the long loose thread dangling from the threadbare sleeve, wondering when best to make her move for it. Thankfully, Trimblefeathers was no longer a concern. The wizarding owl was way too busy being perched on Rose's shoulder, listening to a puzzling conversation with his head cocked to one side.

"You can come and live with us," Scorpius was saying.

"That's not quite how it works, Scorp," Rose sighed. "My Mum and Dad would have to agree to it as well."

Scorpius however had inherited his father's Slytherin flair for business. No customer's problem was too big or too small that it couldn't be mended. "Oh, my Mum and Dad can just adopt you," he said airily. "You won't need to bother asking your Mum and Dad if you can stay then."

"What's a Dopt?" Lily demanded. If it was sweets, toys, birthdays or anything else fun, she wanted in on it.

Rose drew a breath to explain to Lily and enlighten her friend about that being not _quite_ what adoption meant either, but Scorpius beat her to it. "It's when you go to be somebody else's kid. I'm going to tell my Mum and Dad to adopt Rose so's we don't have to wait around for play-dates."

"I'll have a Dopt and a Play-date too then," Having placed her order, Lily skipped happily back over to the kiddies' table that was weighed down with kiddie preferred foodstuffs and where James, Albus and Hugo were already congregated stuffing themselves. Being very careful of course to skip backwards and sideways while keeping one arm behind her back. And then, as the easiest and most direct route to the table was straight ahead and the chocolate cookies she so desired immediately in front, she danced her way completely around it and, chin pressed down on the unsuspecting piece of furniture to better aid her quest, stretched an arm past gaily coloured jelly pots, various flavoured ice-cream dishes cooling-spelled frozen, cauldron cakes and other assorted goodies, narrowly missing toppling over the jug of pumpkin juice, accidentally kicking James, standing on Albus's foot and knocking Hugo's elbow in successful pursuit of her prize of one large chocolate cookie dipped in strawberry ice-cream by its captor on its perilous journey home, causing minor hostilities to break out towards the little witch from the strongly objecting little wizards .

Hermione bit her lip. Like Boots, she had Matters to Mull Over. Was the peculiar Draco Malfoy sideways walk catching? Was it something that occurred in the time zone before Ron and Astoria got there? Malfoy's cryptic walk conundrum had been solved, but it was a mystery as to why Hugo, James and Albus sidled indoors in the same crab-like and hidden arm fashion as Lily. Only Rose and Scorpius seemed to have escaped the affliction although the latter were presently seated. Who knew how they would behave when they got up? And how did she broach the delicate subject of the Ancient Wand and Dark Magic with Draco? Astoria was her best bet as intermediary but Astoria was naturally very protective of her husband and wouldn't take kindly to perceived slights. Maybe Rose? For some reason, she got on extremely well with the touchy and temperamental wizard, who was engaged in apparently trying to out-stare the black cat and oblivious to the polite small talk Ginny, Harry and Ron were conducting with Astoria.

It was James who introduced the next topic. Full of food and bonhomie, he suddenly recollected a promise he made earlier in the day. "Oh, yeah, Dad, I almost forgot! Can you or Mum or Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione show Mr Malfoy how to scourgify his robes?"

There was a stunned silence. Being solvers of the Malfoy walk phenomena, the Gryffindors had by now all realised Draco Malfoy's expensive green robes were very much the worse for wear hence the odd stance when the Malfoys first arrived at their hosts' home and which they had originally mistaken for arrogance. But his impoverishment was yet another delicate subject and they needed to address it carefully. Fortunately for the embarrassed grown-ups, the wearer of the over-scourgified robes wasn't listening. He was striking up a great friendship with Boots, Scorpius thought proudly, for the pair sat gazing intently at each other.

"Won't work any more. Dad did too many," Malfoy junior blithely informed the group before moving swiftly on. "Mum, Dad, can you adopt Rose and Lily? Oh, no, wait! You might as well adopt Alb, James and Hugo as well. Saves time. Thanks." Scorpius obviously expected acquiescence as of his natural-born birthright.

"Saves time for what?" Astoria asked blankly, finding her voice albeit a croaky voice, her heart breaking a little because she knew how sensitive her husband was about their lack of funds, and relieved he hadn't heard. Her green-yellow eyes focussed on her task, Boots licked her lips. His silver-grey eyes focussed on Boots, Draco gulped and pressed Astoria's reassuring hand even tighter.

"Play-dates," Scorpius shrugged patiently, wondering why grown-ups often needed to have everything spelled out for them when the answer was glaringly obvious. "It'll mean nobody has to send owls anymore 'cos everybody'll already be there."

And then Boots made her move! That loose thread was being a damn sight too bold for her liking. She suddenly leapt and batted at it. The platinum-blond wizard shrieked and sprang to his feet, spilling his drink and half dragging Astoria with him. "Help! I'm under attack!"

Hugo frowned. Why did grown-ups always get it so wrong? His Uncle George had told him all about the tricks he and Uncle Fred would play when they were too young to use magic. Putting a drawing pin or tack or anything else with a sharp point on a chair to make someone jump up was one of them. He folded his arms self-righteously "No, you're not. You're OVER a tack."

Lily sighed yearningly. She had loved the romance of Mr Mallfly and Boots gazing adoringly into each others' eyes. "Ohhhh!" she cried in disappointment. "Now you've gone and frightened poor Boots!"

It was a wild, imaginative and almost slanderous exaggeration. From behind the leg of the table whence she'd fled, Poor Boots didn't look in the least bit frightened as she eagerly awaited her next chance to claw at the wizarding material dangling tantalisingly from the magical sleeve.

" _I've_ frightened Boots?!" Draco could stand the torrent of injustices no longer. He sat down once more, tugged back into place by Astoria who was simultaneously performing a quick cleansing spell to dry the floor. "I'll have you know that damn cat's been stalking me ever since I got up this morning in the hope of a ferret feast!"

Lily's eyes widened. She had no idea what a ferret was but she knew a feast was a party. They were having a party right now. A play-date party. Why should Boots miss out? "Oh, yes!" she cried enthusiastically "Mum, Mum, Mr Mallfly just thought of a GREAT idea! Boots could invite all her cat friends round for a play-date and they could have ferrets and cat cake and cat ice cream!" It was such a thrilling prospect that Lily danced around with excitement and Boots left her vantage point to join her. Or rather to stalk the thin piece of wood that Lily had absently incorporated into her dance.

"Um...I don't really think Mr Mally...I mean Mr Malfoy meant that, Lily," Ginny said carefully, aware of his ferret history, and baffled, as was everyone else, when leaving her sentence about cats not eating ferrets unfinished, her sister-in-law abruptly darted forward to gently pluck the stick from Lily's hand. Hermione gasped. She was right. It _did_ have part of a cross and part of a circle carved into it.

"Lily! This is...this is not for kids," she said carefully choosing her words so as not to alarm the children.

A light went on in Rose's shrewd brain. "Is it the wand you've been looking for, Mum? I told you Scorpius's Dad destroyed it, didn't I?"

"My Dad was bored with it so he got his own back. I don't mean he got his own back, I mean he got his _own_ back, I mean, he got back his own. I don't mean he got back _on_ his own 'cos we were all with him on the broomstick, I mean he got back his own, well, not _on_ his own, he got back with us when he got his own back, but he didn't get his _own_ back, he got his _own_ back, no, wait, he kind of..." Scorpius tied himself up in knots in his earnest desire to convey how his father re-acquired his lost wand and misplaced the ancient one and that no acts of vengeance were sought or executed, and in the process became more confused than ever. Luckily, he was the only one paying any heed to his monologue.

"But you can't...you can't just destroy Ancient Wands. Can you?" Harry looked askance at Hermione.

"Not normally," she acknowledged.

"Can if I want," Draco said defiantly. This Ancient Wand must be some kind of valuable antique to judge by the way Potter, Granger, the Weasel and Weaselette were all so concerned about its well-being and he was damned if he was going to be sued for damages. Couldn't afford it, for one.

"How?" Ginny asked. "How in Merlin's name did someone like you manage something like that?"

"Look." Draco had had enough now. "You're not pinning the blame on me. It's not my fault it wasn't very strong to begin with. After the sticking charm wore off and I could let go again it just disintegrated and..."

"Disintegrated…?" Ron echoed in astonishment.

"Draco." Astoria warned gently, anxious to avoid confrontations when they were only just beginning to form fledgling friendships with the Gryffindors, but he was in full flow.

"Yes, Weasley. Disintegrated. I do realise it's difficult for someone with a brain the size of a pea to understand but try to keep up. It Fell To Pieces. Crumbled. It _Broke Up._ _"_

"Was it in love with another wand and didn't the other wand love it anymore?" Lily conveniently joined together magic, snippets of conversation overheard from lovesick teenage witches and wizards about who was dating who, and the muggle fairytales Nanny Molly read to her. "Did it turn into a pumpkin or a glass slipper or did a kindly woodsman find it?"

Draco blinked at the little witch. Salazar help him, why did he always have to try and inject logic into their conversations? But he couldn't help it. It was the Slytherin in him. "You've lost me."

"Don't be silly, Mr Mallfly. You're not lost. I can see you. Look!" From her pocket, Lily drew the wonderful witchling reflective shooting star, the very same that had first alerted the children via their alarming lack of reflections to their disappearance into the time zone, and, as wonderful witchling reflective shooting stars are apt to do, it flew out of her hand, growing larger and larger with its flight. The size now of an extremely large chandelier, it landed, appropriately enough, on the ceiling. Where it poured forth in sullen heavy raindrops the water that had been gathered into its body from the deluge earlier that day.

As the witchling star could and did confirm with its mirror image, everybody was indeed present, including a certain Mr Mallfly. And it watched from above the horrified and stunned expressions as four pieces of wand zipped towards each other so suddenly and swiftly that, like James, Albus and Hugo, Hermione had no choice but to let go. Soaked by the unexpected downpour, the evil Ancient Wand was whole again, its nine diamonds and two circles clearly visible as before...

 **A/N:** Most American readers probably already know this, but for those who don't, we call jelly what you call jell-o and jam what you call jelly. Thought I'd add that because I remember reading _Little Women_ when I was about eleven and being absolutely baffled as to why Meg was making and storing so much jelly! :D


	23. Chapter 23

For your very flattering review of Chapter 22 and for adding this fic to Story Alert, thanks to: _ _-__

 ** **Carlaeme26****

For your very much appreciated reviews of Chapter 22, grateful thanks to: **-**

 ** **SharKohen****

 ** **Guest**** (haha, nice to see you again! ;D)

For adding me to Author Alert and Favourite Authors, many thanks to:-

 **Shubhs**

 ** **A/N:**** _ _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic__ ** _ _ **. The story is AU.**__**

 ** *****chapter 2**** ** **3**** ** *********

 *****A Wand by Any Other Name*****

Draco froze in fear as The Ancient Wand became whole once more. It was all very well, being snippy and winding up Weasley and the rest of the jumped-up jerks. When there were no Dark Arts trying to pull him back to the other side, that was. Almost as if Voldemort controlled him like a puppet, he'd had terrifying thoughts about casting crucios on them all when the wand burned into his hand. It had taken all his willpower to defy it. Name calling was fun. Curses however…

Although he would never dream of telling them, he knew he would never deliberately hurt Granger the Geek, Weasley the Whining Wonder, Potter The Prize Prat and the Whinging Weaselette. Wow! Scorpius was right. He really _did_ have a talent for doling out nicknames. Tripped off his tongue with ease. He could picture himself being awarded a medal for it.

"Hey!" Potty Head One's voice barged into his self-admiring daydream. "Don't go to Mr Malfoy!" ( _for the wand was hovering undecidedly in the air and_ _turning_ _in the nominated wizard's direction_ _)_ As one who had also carried the magical baton for a while, James felt he had a right to a claim. "Come to me!"

"Oh, it definitely WON'T return to you now, James," predicted Rose confidently. The bushy-haired little witch was proved correct. The extremely busy wand – it really had got its life back together since being dug up after several centuries buried deep underground and was determined to make up for lost time, missing time or any time at all, be it past, present or future – flew into Draco's very unwilling grasp.

"Go away! I DON'T WANT YOU!" He cried in horrror.

"Oh, it'll definitely WILL stay with you now, Mr Malfoy." Rose transferred her attention to her time-travelling mentor, unfazed by his scowl as he clung to Astoria's hand as tightly as The Ancient Wand clung to his own

"Wow, another one right! You're dead good at this, Rose!" Scorpius proclaimed, awed by his best friend's talent for fortune-telling.

As was Albus. "Do you know who's going to win the Qudditch semi-final on Saturday? My Dad said he'll eat his hat if Appleby Arrows lose and I want to watch him eat it."

"I can't tell the future, you nincompoop." Having lately learnt the meaning of the interesting word via her friend's father, Rose was keen to put it into practice.

" _He's_ not Hugh Nincompoop. _I'm_ Hugh Nincompoop," Hugo was extremely proud of his specially selected appellation and strongly objected to it being bandied about so freely. "Why can't he have one of Lily's names?"

But Lily aka Dance-Yourself-Dizzy aka Dancing Lily aka Sweet Circe had more pressing concerns. Like bringing big brothers to heel. "Don't be stupid. Dad can't eat his hat. He hasn't got a hat."

"Ah! I forgot." Albus looked crestfallen.

Scorpius was on the case however. "But does your Mum have a hat?"

"Oh, yeah!" Albus brightened. "My Mum's got a witch's hat ( _he demonstrated with his hands poised like a church steeple_ _high_ _above his head_ ), a witch wedding hat ( _presumably the witch wedding hat_ _was decorated with_ _several_ _ribbons or Ginny_ _insisted on wearing_ _her hair long when attending witch weddings as Albus fluttered his fingers at either side of his head_ ) and a just-going-to-the-shops witch hat ( _we_ _can only_ _assume_ _Ginny_ _hated shopping_ _and_ _was al_ _ways in a hurry to get there and back,_ _for_ _he made a_ _much_ _smaller_ _triangular_ _church steeple_ _that rested atop_ _his head, then,_ _face grave,_ _swung his arms_ _by his sides_ _as if in hurried walk_ _. Albus_ _obviously_ _had a g_ _reat future_ _ahead_ _of him_ _as a mime artist._ ) "He can eat one of my Mum's hats when The Arrows lose."

"Appleby Arrows are NOT going to lose. They're going to play the Harpies in the Final!" Quidditch being his passion, Harry was quickly swept up in the discussion.

"Oh!" Albus was momentarily deflated, but quickly recovered his equilibrium. "Well... can you still eat the hat so's I can watch?"

Draco almost felt sorry for Potter. Once you were hoovered up into one of their conversations, there was no way out. It was like being a tiny fly caught in a spider's web. Similar to the deep-seated attachment of the Ancient Wand to his reluctant grasp. At least, unlike in the time zone, his wife was here. "Tori, whatever you do, don't leave my side!"

The blond wizard watched in astonishment, alarm and not a little hurt as in answer to his plea his wife flew, unaided by broomstick, to the furthest end of the room. And then it got even more worrying. Granger murmured something and all four Gryffindors rose as one and levelled wands in his direction.

"Hey, now hold on a minute!" Draco said nervously. "The wand's _stuck_ to me. I'm not challenging any of you lot."

His arm immediately shot up and aimed the wand threateningly. "Oh. Ah. Right. Well, anyway, I'm...um... just sitting here minding my own business. I am most definitely _not_ standing here seeking a duel...Ahhh!" The wand tugged him to his feet.

"Draco, _please_ be careful what you say!" Hermione warned. "When The Ancient Wand gets wet it does the exact opposite and it's still soaked from the rain. If you say you don't _want_ to attack, it _will_ attack."

"What do you take me for, Granger? I'm not mad enough to attack anyone, even Weasley!" Roaring like a raging bull, he charged furiously at Ron as he spoke.

Fortunately, the red-head – well, his hair was thinning so much it's debatable whether fiery red or peppering grey had the upper hand nowadays, but we'll let that pass – used his quick reflexes to skilfully jump aside. "Stop waving that bloody wand in front of my face and lower it, you moron."

"I can't lower the goddamn wand, you cretin!" Draco's hand dropped to his side once more.

"Thank _you!"_ the red-headed or grey-headed Gryffindor said with heavy sarcasm.

"Don't mention it!" The blond Slytherin snapped with equal bags of sarcasm.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank..." Ron looked anything but grateful while platitudes poured forth from him.

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, tell Ron to _say_ thank you and get him to stop!"

Draco arched an imperious Malfoy eyebrow and looked smug. "Oh, but I kind of like it."

"Draco. Do as Ginny asked," Astoria said gently.

"I hope you appreciate this, Weasley," he sighed. Then smirked. "Say thank you."

Ron's jaw clamped shut at last and he glared icily at his old adversary.

"Okay, now we've got that sorted let's think this through." Hermione ignored Ron's glare and Draco's smirk lest full scale hostilities broke out again. "Mal...Draco, we all know Garrick Ollivander said the wand chooses the owner. Now, The Ancient Wand really seems to like you so..."

"It does?" Draco was impressed.

Unlike Hugo. "Oh, everybody likes My Friend's Dad!" He waved his small hand dismissively, and addressed the subject of the Ancient Wand's hero-worship. "What's its name?"

"Its name?" As Tori was still as far as away as she could possibly get, the Ancient Wand's hero looked helplessly at Eldest Granger, known sympathiser of underprivileged seekers of logic, who stood nearby with his son.

"It'll all be okay," she said, patting his arm reassuringly. Scorpius however had already taken up Hugo's idea and ran with it like an unfurling banner.

"You could call it Walter Wand, Dad. Or Wilfred Wand. Or Wibur W..."

"It's a girl wand!" Lily stated, showing early concern for gender equality.. "Mr Mallyfly's going to call it Willow Wendy Winifred Wandy. Aren't you?" she demanded, leaving no room for doubt.

"I am NOT giving the wand a name," Draco protested, forgetting about the rule of opposites. "And anyway it's called Wellington." The word popped into his head out of nowhere.

"'Cos you and Boots are best friends?" Albus surmised.

"I am not best friends with Boots. I can't stand cats and especially not that bloody cat." Draco picked up Boots and sat her on his lap, where she purred contentedly at having her ears scratched.

Hermione glanced around. Everybody seemed to be settled at last. Ron, Harry and Ginny had their wands at the ready as instructed. Now that Draco had stopped making counter-requests, Astoria had managed to return to the fold. Most of the kids were gathered round Malfoy. Having lost ownership of The Ancient Wand, James had retreated under the table to console himself with a giant bowl of trifle. "Okay, now we've all calmed down, let's discuss this rationally."

"Ha! Rationally with four wands aimed at me and a dangerous flea-bitten animal on my knee?" Draco couldn't figure out how to rid himself of it. Nor the wand. The former had settled very comfortably and sleepily on his lap while the latter refused to let go. Perhaps it had developed a liking for his own wand tucked into his deep robe pocket. Good Lord, now he was even thinking like Dance-Yourself-Dizzy. Oh, Salazar! He'd been well and truly brain zapped.

"They're not aiming at you personally, Draco. They're being cautious about The Ancient Wand," Tori guessed.

"Astoria's right," Harry nodded. "Hermione reckons even though it seems harmless enough now it could be a trick. Until we're a hundred per cent sure it's safe we can't take any chances."

"So it's best to keep out wands trained on it at all times in case we need to hex you," Ginny explained. "Sorry," she shrugged in answer to his dark look. "We wouldn't enjoy doing that."

"Nope. Not a bit." Ron looked and sounded as though he would enjoy it immensely.

"You know," Hermione said musingly. She had been giving her lip a thorough chewing and reached a conclusion. "I think it's the kids who are the key...the kids, the cat and the owl... Lily, what are you doing…?" For the little blonde-haired witch was stamping her feet and twirling randomly.

"Dancing to the song," Lily replied. "The key, the kids, the cat and the owl..." She stamped, twirled and clapped in time to each noun. "The key, the kids, the cat, and the owl...Can you sing it to me, Auntie 'Mione?"

"Sing it to…?" Hermione shook herself out of the dream-like trance her small niece was skilfully lulling her into. "I'm afraid you'll have to make up a tune yourself, Lily, we're very busy at the moment. Draco, I don't want to worry you unduly, but we'll need to tread very, very carefully here. If The Ancient Wand is still carrying traces of Darkness it will have sensed your resistance to the Dark. And that could place you in very grave danger,"

Draco blanched. "But...but I'm Slytherin! I don't do danger!"

Astoria gasped. "You mean...you mean it could try to _kill_ him?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered unhappily.


	24. Chapter 24

For your lovely and very much appreciated reviews of Chapter 23, thanks to: _ _-__

 ** **Carlaeme26****

 ** **JeanandBilius****

 ** **Guest 1****

 ** **Guest 2****

For adding this fic to Favourite and Follows, many thanks to:-

 ** **S**** ** **ophiaguilia15****

For adding this fic to Follows, thank you to:-

 ** **mathurpavani****

 ** **A/N:**** _ _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic__ ** _ _ **. The story is AU.**__**

 *****Chapter 24*****

 *****Future Plans*****

For several seconds, as the shocking possibility that The Ancient Wand might try to kill Draco sank in, the room reverberated with a stunned, horrified silence. Broken at last by Scorpius.

"You're not going to be a dead eater again, are you, Dad?"

"I'll...I'll be fine, Scorp," Draco replied in a tight, choked voice that did little to conceal its feigned nonchalance. "Just ask your Mum."

"Of course. Don't worry, Scorpius," Astoria tearfully hugged their son closer.

"Your Dad will be okay. Mum and Dad and Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny will make sure nothing bad happens" Rose promised, hugging Scorpius in turn.

Albus however was of the strong opinion his friend required further reassurance. And so he gave it. "I don't think your Dad can be a dead eater anyway," he proclaimed. "I think he'd get a bit mad if we kept waking him up from being dead to have eggs, bacon and tomato for breakfast."

"And toast. And marmalade," Lily added helpfully.

"And sausage rolls. And apple pie. And strawberry milk-shake," Hugo supplied. They were all particular favourites of his.

"And cheese sandwiches. And rice pudding. And roast dinner. And curry, rice and chips." Lily expanded the menu with the flair of a banqueting manager. "And biscuits. Not horrible biscuits like ginger biscuits," she elaborated; "he might wake up from being dead for nice biscuits like chocolate biscuits though."

"What about ice-cream?" Hugo queried.

Lily thought it over for a bit. "I don't think he'd get _too_ mad if we woke him up from being dead for ice-cream. Would he, Alb?"

"Dunno. Prob'ly best if Mr Malfoy tells us what he might and might not wake up for, then we'll know for sure." Albus sat down on the floor and by Lily and Hugo copied.

"But there IS a blocking spell." Having once been the brightest witch of her age and now being the brightest witch of _the_ age, Hermione knew better than to engage in the children's debates and thus continued as if she had never been interrupted. "Have you ever heard of the Circle of Time?"

The lanky blond wizard shook his blond head. As much as he was able to. Which wasn't much. An owl perched on it and other restrictions were not conducive to developing proficient head-shaking skills. Draco could barely move. If The Ancient Wand didn't kill him first, being smothered surely would. Astoria and Scorpius clung to him, Boots snoozed loudly on his lap, Trimblefeathers, as we have noted, currently resided atop his head ( _doubtless,_ _Draco thought,_ _to_ _keep a careful eye on_ _his future_ _home_ _for_ _when he decided to settle down and start a family_ _,_ _for_ _E_ _ldest Granger's_ _wild, bushy h_ _air_ _and Eldest Granger herself_ _leaned against_ _Scorpius_ ) while Dance-Yourself-Dizzy, Potty Head Two and Mad Professor sat cross-legged on the carpet, looking up at him expectantly. For some reason he couldn't fathom, they had requested he tell a story about ginger biscuits and ice–cream. To further highlight the shocking lack of opportunity for aspiring head-shakers to hone their skills, four outstretched wands attached to four outstretched arms tightly surrounded the group.

"Okay." Hermione loved nothing better (apart from reading) than imparting her extensive knowledge gleaned from reading. "The Circle of Time is a blocking spell. Since earliest known magical times Circles have represented Life and Diamonds represented Death. We don't know how, when or where The Ancient Wand came to be, but we do know thousands of years ago someone tried to destroy its evil, as evidenced by the tiny crescent moon shape hidden inside the first Diamond, which you just _might_ be able to see ( _the would-be head-shaker squinted at the first Diamond and would have shaken his head in the negative_ _except_ _sadly circumstances beyond his control never gave him the_ _lucky break_ _others took for granted, while assorted head-shakers, never having been thwarted in their head-shaking ambitions, squinted and shook their heads_ _in the negative_ _with_ _practised_ _ease_ ) When they found its power too potent to destroy they did the next best thing – spelled two protective circles over the nine evil diamonds, then buried it deep in the bowels of the Earth in the hope it would never be discovered and fall into the wrong hands. What they couldn't know was that over many centuries rain-water would begin to seep into the Circles, causing them to rotate..."

"And make time spin! _"_ Rose's wild frizzy hair popped up briefly to make the aha-moment announcement. At least it seemed so to Draco but he was pretty sure Eldest Granger was hidden under there somewhere.

"Exactly, Rose. There being no end or beginning to a circle, now that they're fluid with the water any spells cast with The Ancient Wand will work backwards like a mirror image and in addition time may well become distorted."

For some time now a peculiar low grizzling noise had been providing background accompaniment to Hermione's speech. Finally it broke into a wail. "I _Didn't See_ the moon!"

Draco stared in astonishment at Mad Professor. "It's daytime."

"And I didn't get _A Story!"_

"Yes, well, I don't know any stories about ginger biscuits and ice-cream."

Hugo fell into heartfelt sobs at the many injustices he'd endured. "And James didn't magic me _A_ _ny_ _C_ _hocolate!"_

Casting a wary eye at Dance-Yourself-Dizzy who, bored with sitting still, had leapt up to tap-dance to an odd chorus of the key, the kids, the cat and the owl, Draco realised too late his brain was in danger of being sucked into the surreal universe once more but fortunately at that moment Granger snapped the terrifying wandless charm by pausing to pick up and console her son and Potter continued.

"Hermione reckons if The Ancient Wand does try to kill you it will exterminate itself in the process and thus activate the Circle of Life blocking spell so we can easily bring you back from the brink of death," Harry revealed proudly.

Astoria breathed in relief. "That's good news, isn't it, Draco?"

Draco however glowered. Potter, Granger, The Weasel and The Weaselette all looked a darned sight too happy about this. "Slight problem. I'd prefer _no_ _t_ to get to the brink of death in the first place, thank you very much!"

James set down the finished bowl of trifle, scrambled out from under the table where he'd been watching and listening with great interest, and, hands in pockets, swaggered on to centre stage. This was his moment to shine. "Don't worry, Mr Malfoy. Everybody will write you a letter while you're dying."

" _What?"_ Harry Potter had never been noted for his oratory powers, but the tiny single word sufficed for a thousand.

"Yep. We'll all write to you," he confirmed importantly. "Lily and Hugo are a bit too young to write a proper letter, though. They might have to just put their names in a card."

" _What?"_ Being someone who thoroughly enjoyed a good natter with friends and who wrote award-winning witty and hugely popular sports articles for wizarding newspapers, Ginny Potter _nee_ Weasley _was_ noted for her oratory powers but the ubiquitous single word was all she could find in her vast repertoire.

"It's a kind of muggle spell that makes you better." James felt very pleased with himself. It was gratifying to have so much knowledge when the grown-ups didn't. He knew all about what happened. He'd watched a muggle movie about it. In the muggle movie, the gangster's wife rushed to the hospital when they telephoned her to say her husband was seriously ill and being given the letters. When she reached there however, the doctors told her he'd recovered and wasn't going to die after all.

"It's called the last writes," he said confidently.

"You mean the last rites*, James." Hermione corrected, as comprehension dawned.

"Yeh. The last writes." James agreed. You could always rely on Auntie 'Mione being clever enough to figure it out.

"Won't my Dad know what we're writing, though?" Scorpius asked, intrigued.

"No, he'll be too busy dying," James said cheerfully. "He'll come back alive after he gets the letters and the cards."

"Cool. Who's got a quill and parchment?" Albus asked enthusiastically.

"I don't think it's a muggle spell, James," Rose said patiently.

"The key, the kids, the cat, and the owl." Lily incorporated everybody else into her solo show and tap-danced around them.

"What are they all talking about?" Ron whispered, but his wife only shook her head. To Draco's envy. It was amazing how many people round here could shake their head without even having to think about it.

And then Astoria screamed. From The Ancient Wand emanated an eerie luminous green glow as in Draco's shaking hand it turned towards his heart…

 **A/N:** Wow, it was tough describing the circles/diamond/crescent moon explanation, I hadn't thought any of it through when I began this story!

I've posted this chapter earlier than usual, partly because I needed to cheer myself up and partly because I'm not sure what's going to happen in the next few weeks. My landlord has decided to sell this flat and I'm really upset as I love it here. I hope to make the next chapter the final one but my head's all over the place at the moment so don't know when that will be.

*the last rites: In Christian religion, the last rites are given to a person who is dying.


	25. Chapter 25

_For your very much appreciated reviews of Chapter 2_ _4_ _,_ _many_ _thanks to:_ _ _-__

 ** **JeanandBilius****

 ** **Carlaeme26****

 ** **Guest****

 ** **A/N:**** _ _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic__ _ ** _ **. The story is AU.**_**_

 ** _***_ _chapter 25***_**

 ** _***_ _writers and wanderers***_**

The Ancient Wand suddenly pulled back from Draco's chest, tugged him upright with some powerful magnetic force and hovered above his head like the sword of Damocles, apparently stricken with an inability to kill that would have greatly shamed its Dark masters unknown had they known anything about it. Or maybe it had made up its mind to put on a conjuring show and urgently required an on-stage assistant. Or then again maybe it was simply distracted by recent events. It was hard not to be.

The Granger-Weasley home together with its occupants – well, most of its occupants – juddered and shook. Pictures and ornaments leapt about, then changed their minds and leapt back in place, dishes, bottles and glasses emptied their contents and broke themselves up, then pieced themselves together and served and poured themselves all over again; floors and carpets joined forces to raise and swirl and twist; walls, windows and ceilings spun in frantic circles, then spun frantically back; furniture stampeded thunderously about like late-for-work commuters racing for last-minute trains.

The children took it all in their stride.

"Yay! We're going apple hating!" Hugo declared, he and Lily delightedly boarding their desired transport – two billowing Slytherin green sleeves, threadbare and frayed, but perfect for passengers who preferred to travel light and economy class.

"Oh, wow, I love your Dad's apparating, Scorp, it's loads better than my Dad's. Wish I had a sleeve!" Albus watched Lily and Hugo enviously, wishing too he'd had the foresight to book a ticket.

"I am NOT apparating. OR apple hating. OR dancing!" The additional denial was purely for the dancing-obsessed youngest Potter's benefit. The little blonde-haired witch was regarding Draco's fancy footwork as he tried to stay upright with a damn too much interest for his liking.

Lily cast him a scathing look. Of course Mr Mallyfly was dancing. All the grown-ups were.

Dad and Uncle Ron were spinning round on the moving carpet and jumping randomly past flying furniture; Mum and Mrs Mallyfly whizzed and, weaved their way through tables and chairs that were busy hurrying in the opposite direction, and Auntie Hermione without a dancing partner continuously circled on the outer boundary of the room.

"What a racket!" Astoria yelled, pressing her hands over her ears to block out the noise. It was a privilege denied to Draco, Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny. The Slytherin was weighed down with passengers while the Gryffindors were being forced by the same powerful force that controlled Draco to raise and lower wands at regular intervals on their exciting all-inclusive round-the-living-room trips.

"It's enough to wake the goddam dead!" Draco yelled back, struggling to stay upright.

"But, Dad, you can't die and come back yet! I haven't done your letter for the last writes. I haven't even got anything to write on!"Scorpius bemoaned, staring reproachfully at his father. It really would be most inconsiderate if he went off dying and rising from the dead without waiting until everyone was ready.

"No worries, Scorp," James said confidently. "I'll go get the stuff. Won't be long."As good as his word, he jumped on the unfurling carpet, travelled as far as his aunt and uncle's stationery shelf, jumped off to collect writing necessities (which, like everything else including the shelf, were flying back and forth and thus very kindly and thoughtfully flew straight into his hand) caught the very next carpet back and immediately began doling out quills and parchment.

Only Scorpius and Albus accepted however. Lily and Hugo, still clinging to the sleeves of their transport, looked at him as if he were crazy and Rose politely but firmly declined.

"James," she sighed; "writing letters is not going to achieve anything because, Scorpius," she turned to include her best friend in the conversation; "your Dad is not going to die and come back because he's not going to die in the first place and so all you have to do is just... _what?"_ Albus was urgently tapping her arm with the quill he'd lately received courtesy of the Santa stationery distributor.

"If Scorpius's Dad's not going to die in the first place is he going to die in the second place and where do we have to go for the second place?" Albus felt he'd been entrusted with a great responsibility by his older brother. He was determined to take his letter-writing duties seriously.

"I give up, Mr Malfoy! I just give up!" Rose pulled up a chair opposite where Draco already sat, having sunk under the weight of the sleeve steerage stowaways.

"Me too," he sighed. He lowered his voice, puzzled by all the activity. "You don't happen to know where everybody's going, do you?"

"It's the house," Rose explained. "It's throwing everybody except us about. Even Trimblefeathers and Boots."

Draco glanced at the owl and cat. Despite her natural balance and agility a loudly mewing Boots was having to constantly leap around while a hooting Trimblefeathers couldn't navigate to fly and darted everywhere in zig-zag fashion.

The Slytherin nodded in like this had a habit of happening when Scorpius, Pottyheads One and Two and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy were around. Luckily so, too, was Lieutenant Granger. "But _why?"_

"I'm not sure," Rose replied, chewing her lip in contemplation.

"It might be bored," Hugo suggested helpfully.

"You're so stupid, Hugo," his fellow passenger said scornfully. "Houses don't throw people about when they're bored!"

"Ex- _actly!"_ Draco agreed, pleasantly surprised that the little witch was being logical for once. "You should listen to what the witch she has to say."

"Yeh," Lily said. "Houses just go for a walk when they're bored."

Meanwhile Ron also had questions and sought answers from a Wise One. 'Mione, what's the hell is happening?" He roared above the din. "Why does the house keep moving?"

"Time!" Hermione sounded like an old-fashioned publican warning punters to drink up fast. "Time's out of control!"

"Can't we stop it?" Harry shouted, as he whizzed by on the undulating carpet. Rather impolitely, he didn't wait for an answer but zoomed past on his way to perform an impressive figure of eight, closely followed by Ron on his way to stun the audience with a slightly less impressive a figure of four.

"No. Only Draco can." Hermione's voice called after him as the room transported her around its edges.

"Draco?!" Ginny's bafflement was evident as the carpet skated her by.

"He's the only one who can resist the Ancient Wand," Hermione explained. "He has to _want_ to destroy Darkness forever."

"He will, he does!" Astoria provided the relevant information as she glided by after Ginny.

Oblivious to the movers and shakers, James was extremely busy, scribbling feverishly. The room spinning, the furniture rocking and rolling, the crazed dancers, nothing could interrupt his work. James wrote. And wrote. And wrote.

Ron and Harry shuffle-danced around the room together, watched by a morose Scorpius.

"Scorpius, your Dad will be okay, honest. Mum and Uncle Harry _always_ know what to do," Rose promised, concerned by his glum expression. "Oh, and Dad does too sometimes," she tagged on as an afterthought, noticing her father's scowl as, arms outstretched, Ron returned and circled his wild-haired daughter and Malfoy junior several times before he abruptly glided away. He must have suddenly remembered he had promised the next dance to Harry, for the pair began what looked like an extremely interesting jive.

"Oh, I know! It's not that. It's just...I can't think what to write." Scorpius took the quill from behind his ear and sighed. "What have you got so far, James?"

The consulted wordsmith was extremely proud of his handiwork and delighted to be asked to share .He coughed importantly and read aloud.

 _"Dear Mr Malfoy, I hope you are well and enjoying dying. It is very hot here. And some rain. But no snow. No thunder. No lightning. No wind. I don't mean wind like when my Dads frends dog is smelly and he does a spell so its not smelly._

("My Dad's friend does the spells; the dog can't," James broke off to put Scorpius in the picture before taking up his refrain once more.)

 _We do not have a dog or a cat or a hipogrif or a pig or a rat or a horse. We might have a pet rackspert. My Mums frend Luna said you cant see them so I think we might have a pet rackspert and not no. I hope it has food. I hope it has water. We do not have a snake. We do not have a dragon..."_

"Oh, cool, we've got a pet wrackspurt!" Albus cried excitedly, breaking off from his letter. He felt he'd done enough. After much soul searching, a great deal of staring into space for inspiration, and pacing the floor with hand pressed to forehead reminiscent of a best-selling author being badgered by his publishing house to produce his umpteenth novel, he'd written _Hello._ "Bagsy I take it for its walks."

"No way. I'M taking it for its walks," James stated, dodging out of the way as for the fourth or fifth time his parents, Uncle Ron and Scorpius's Mum weaved among them.

It was odd how the Mums and Dads had all suddenly started dancing, Hugo thought. Though everybody knew grown-ups were a bit weird so maybe it wasn't.

"Wait!" Hermione cried.

Although nobody did. Ron and Harry whizzed pastlike whirling dervishes while Ginny and Astoria entertained with an interesting and graceful duet.

Nor did Hermione heed her own advice. "The kids aren't being affected by the moving room." she continued, undeterred by the non-captive audience as she shark-circled the would-be scribes and performing artists.

"Yes, well, nothing has any effect on _them,"_ Draco spoke from bitter experience. And rather fearfully. The smallest witch and smallest wizard were hanging on to his sleeves like limpets, while Scorpius, Potty Head One, Potty Head Two and Lieutenant Granger were consulting over parchments that had something to do with his death, for Merlin's sake! If only Tori would abandon her new-found passion for line dancing, but, no, she and the Weaselette continued to march, sway and twirl in almost perfect synchronisation while The Chosen Prat and The Whinging Wonder river-danced, tap-danced, high-land flinged and even occasionally ballet-stepped by.

"And it's not affecting us as much either." Hermione frowned thoughtfully at her erstwhile foe. "Draco, exactly what were you thinking in the split second when The Ancient Wand tried to kill you?"

"Oh, pretty much what anyone thinks about when they're being threatened with death, Granger, pink, fluffy bunnies and how nice it would be to skip barefoot through fields of buttercups, tulips and daisies singing tra-la-la, what do you _think_ I was thinking about?"

Hermione didn't so much as blink. "You were worrying about the kids. And me."

"I most certainly was NOT!" Draco protested with exceptional vehemence. Because the know-all witch was right. He _had_ been worrying about the extremely annoying little witches and wizards and praying Granger's phenomenal brain would be able to fix everything and fast.

"Which is the reason I'm on the periphery of the zone and not IN it and the kids aren't in it at all. And it seems Astoria, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Trimblefeathers and Boots were time-zoned _only_ because you didn't have time to worry about them in the same split second," Hermione deduced; "Draco, I believe it's _impossible_ for the Wand to influence you into being a Death Eater because I reckon it's _impossible_ for you to turn to the Dark!"

The Slytherin must have taken great offence at having his Death Eater shortcomings pointed out so publicly, for, with the Ancient Wand hovering above his perfectly-gelled white-blond hair, and without another word, he dropped his airborne passengers back on the runway and waltzed backwards out of the door from whence he'd so recently entered...

 **A/N:** Thanks to everyone who sent good wishes about the flat. I've not seen anything suitable so far, but my tenancy agreement here is till September so still time. Also, should have time to write the final chapter of this fic because it turned out the above was next-to-last… :D


	26. Chapter 26

_For your lovely review of_ _Chapter 25_ _and_ _your review_ _also of_ _ _The Perfume of the Roses__ _, the first story in this trilogy, and for adding me to Author Alert, many thanks to:-_

 ** **Carlaeme26****

 _For your very much appreciated reviews of Chapter 2_ _5_ _, many thanks to:-_

 ** **JeanandBilius****

 ** **Guest****

 _For adding this fic to Favourites and Alerts and adding me to Favourite Author and Author Alert, thanks to: **-**_

 ** **CZRG****

 ** **A/N:**** _ _J K Rowling created (most of) the characters in this fic__ ** _ _.__** ** _ _ **The story is AU.**__**

 *****chapter 26*****

 *****Final Chapter*****

 *****The Wandering and Wondering Wonders*****

The Malfoys had never before been considered trendsetters but let it be noted in the chronicles of magical fashion history that Draco Malfoy started an exciting new movement. Dancing dynamos, would-be wordsmiths, ice-skating wannabes, cats and owls, wonderful witchling reflective shooting stars, anybody who was anybody, followed his lead and waltzed backwards into the garden. But some – perhaps those who just didn't have that elusive X factor and never would make it to the top - stalled.

"We can't go any farther," Hermione cautioned, as The Chosen One chose to take one step forward only to remain in exactly the same spot. Harry scratched the lightning scar on his forehead in bafflement. "What's going on, 'Mione?"

The wisest witch of the age had already chewed her lip over this conundrum and reached her wise conclusion. "It's the evil force pulling everyone. I believe The Ancient Wand's making a last-ditch attempt to convert Draco to Darkness, which is why it's pushed us several seconds behind and taken Draco to the exact place where they met. It's good that it hasn't been able to stop Astoria getting past its barrier though. Those protective circles etched in it make it powerless to act against anyone he loves."

"Astoria and Scorpius, I can understand, but _all_ the kids _and_ Trimblefeathers and Boots?" Ginny queried dubiously.

Hermione shrugged. "I know it's odd, Gin, but they did all go time travelling together. It's possible they've developed a bond."

"Yeh, well, I went time travelling with Malfoy for a while too," Ron pointed out. "How come he didn't bond with _me?_ Ah, wait, no, I didn't mean..." He spluttered, red-faced.

"So what happens now?" Harry asked. "They don't seem to be taking any notice of us."

"They're a bit too far into the future to see us or hear us and we're near enough to see them but too far away to hear them" Hermione replied. "I'm afraid everything rests on Draco's shoulders now, Harry. All we _can_ do is wait. And watch."

And all four Gryffindors looked towards where our time travellers extraordinaire were gathered around the large old tree, where they had set off on their epic journey. No doubt, given the seriousness of the situation, they were discussing weighty matters.

"What are you looking at, Scorpius?" Rose wanted to know, for the youngest Malfoy craned his neck, staring intently at something above, where dwelt his lanky pater, and, even higher than he, the cat and the owl, who were atop the gnarled old tree, Trimblefeathers circling and hooting furiously, Boots clawing at something from her perch upon the topmost branch. Perhaps Scorpius contemplated the distant universe and the mystery of how humankind came to be.

"Oh, I was just wondering why my Dad's so tall."

"Yeh. He is, isn't he?" Rose checked for herself and nodded agreement. "My Dad is too. I wonder who's the tallest? What do you think, James?" For his gaze, too, was firmly fixed on the skyline.

Her cousin snorted. "I wasn't wondering _that._ I was wondering why the Ancient Wand keeps following Scorpius's Dad head wherever he goes." James couldn't help feeling jealous. They were best friends now, the walkabout wizard and the wandering wand, and it wasn't fair when he made its acquaintance first.

"I wonder if it's looking for brains?" Albus mused, oblivious to the wandering wand's best friend's glare.

"I wonder if Mr Mallyfly's robe is going to come _all_ the way off?" Lily pondered.

"I was wondering what that tug was." Draco told Astoria nervously, not daring look.

"Oh, God, no! I wondered what Boots was...Draco, I'm afraid she's somehow wrapped the robe's loose thread around her paw!" His wife squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, though. It's not as if you're not wearing anything else."

Don't worry? It was all very well for Astoria but he had the Malfoy reputation to uphold. And, cash being in very short supply in the Malfoys' limited budget household, and consequently clothing being in very short supply in the head of the Malfoy household's limited budget wardrobe, underneath his Slytherin robes he wore baggy second-hand, much-scourgified denim jeans, a charity-shop T-shirt that bore a large picture of four muggles who were all bizarrely called ABBA and, to top off his outfit, fake leather shoes. Fake leather, for Merlin's sake, not even the dignity of dragon hide! The length of the robe and careful shuffle-walking had hitherto hidden the embarrassing attire from general view, but now the ruse was about to become undone. Literally. He could do nothing to stop it. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched Astoria's hand.

"I wonder what Boots is knitting, though?" Lily continued.

"I wonder why My Friend's Dad has a flower growing out of his head?" Hugo chipped in.

"What?!" Draco's eyes flew open in alarm.

"Calm down. You don't. Look!" Astoria indicated the wonderful witchling reflective shooting star attached to the tree and sure enough his image showed nothing unusual. Unless of course you counted an Ancient Wand hovering above perfectly gelled white-blond locks.

"Then why did he…?"

"I had nothing to wonder about." Hugo said proudly, and waited to be praised for his ingenuity.

"Sweet, sweet Merlin!" Draco re-shuttered his eyes to the madness and held Astoria's hand tighter than ever, trying to console himself with the thought the moment would come and the moment would pass, and eventually become a distant memory. Well, provided they didn't all go time travelling again, that was. Voices floated up from below. He'd spent so damn long in their crazy company he could identify each with ease.

"Who's Sweet, Sweet Merlin?" Potty Head Two always operated on a need-to-know basis.

" _Me."_ Mad Professor. Assumed everything as his birthright.

"Don't be greedy, Hugo. How many nicknames do you need?" Eldest Granger could be relied upon to inject a pinch of much-needed logic into their peculiar proceedings.

"Oh, prob'ly about a hundred."

"You needed another nickname. You could have it." That was Scorpius wheeling and dealing.

"Nah. Too girly. Though Merlin _was_ a brilliant wizard..." In the style of Potty Head Senior, Potty Head One would be scratching the lightning scar on his forehead as he mulled it over. Except in his case the scar was invisible and, being given to artistic flourishes, he would also be taking up a dramatic stance as though delivering a stage soliloquy to the packed and enthusiastic audience that existed inside his head.

"Girls are better." To judge by the slight breathlessness and stomping Dance-Youself-Dizzy was, for reasons known only to Dance-Yourself-Dizzy herself, dancing again.

"Oh, shut up, Lily! You should..."

But their voices were fading now. The Ancient Wand had one last dice to throw in pursuit of Darkness. And it fought. How it fought. Time tumbled backwards and took him...

 _Each step more reluctant than the last. Each sob-shrouded breath louder. Time ticking away faster and faster and faster and faster and faster and faster. Murderer! The word seems to echo mockingly around Hogwarts' ancient castle walls. But, oh, the power! The power of holding another's life in his hands! Of seeing the fear in another's eyes! Of what greatness he might achieve with this chance to change Time! And far away the shouts and screams of war being fought and here the lonely whisper of silence. And far away dozens of lives being lost and here solitary watcher of his shadow flickering in the torches' firelight. Light. Then Dark. Light. Then Dark. Light. Then Dark once more. Fire burning all along the myriad of corridors and fire of the Dark Mark burning into his skin. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat leading to this moment. Kill. Or be killed. Kill. Or have those you love killed. It must be. Blood on his hands, blood on his soul._

 _But Time hurries on now. In the midst of the Dark someone holding him tight, rocking him, whispering and hushing and stroking. "Ssshh, ssshhh, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay. Draco, you're here, you're safe, you're with me..."_

 _Eyes fluttering open, the black of night, the white of the moon. Two wavering shadows cast in moonlight dancing on the bedroom walls. Dark. Then Light. Dark. Then Light. Dark. Then Light once more. Light that grows ever brighter, chasing away the nightmares faster and faster and faster and faster and faster and faster, two heartbeats ticking away time. Every step, every breath, leading to this moment. Two heartbeats. Then three._

" _I'm terrified of being a parent," he tells her one day, seeking reassurance._

 _But Astoria only smiles a small smile, twirling a strand of hair round and round her finger as she always does when nervous, her belly so far swollen now that muggles notice and often stop to offer their congratulations. "So am I."_

 _As it turned out, Astoria had nothing to fear and Draco...well, Draco, much as he adored his son, was still trying to figure out what went on inside Scorpius's head. But this time Astoria had the answer. "All kids are like that, Draco."_

 _Ah. That explained everything. So all kids were at all different times scary and fun and kind and mean and sassy and naive and (occasionally) quiet and thoughtful and (frequently) loud and tireless and (sometimes) bolshy and placid and obnoxious and loveable and happy and sad and patient and impatient and a great deal more. Nobody knows why they are so many things; they just are, Draco declares knowledgeably, having been a father now over for two years. But Astoria thought his expert opinion on children extremely funny, as she has done ever since Scorpius's birth. Maybe, he decided, you just had to wait for them to grow up and hope you got through it. He was still getting through it but nowadays he had to figure out Scorpius's friends too. Or then again maybe he could just let it happen. Because there was no way out. Kids always won._

Like at this very moment. How he got there, he never knew. But here he suddenly was, with six kids, his wife, a cat, an owl, and four Gryffindors, his Slytherin robes shredded, dressed in baggy second-hand, much-scourgified denim jeans, a charity shop t-shirt that bore a large picture of four muggles who were all bizarrely called ABBA, and fake leather shoes. Not even the dignity of dragon hide! But getting there...with Astoria and Scorpius...was actually a nice place to be.

The Ancient Wand has lost the battle. It crumbles miserably in sad and sorry defeat. Wood shavings so tiny they are little more than powder rain down to scatter and die unmourned.

"Oh, Draco, thank God you're back!" Astoria's voice cracked with emotion as she wrapped her arms around him in relief. "Don't ever scare me like that again! For a little while it was like...like you were somebody else."

He blinked, his limbs heavy, his mind drowsy, feeling as though lately woken from a long and lonely dream. "I was. A long time ago." He whispered the sentiment, meant for Astoria's ears only. "Are the kids okay?" He whispered that too, not sure why, apart from his son, those mysterious beings should be a cause for his concern.

"They're fine, they're fine, we all are." Tori was laughing and brushing happy tears from her eyes.

"I wonder why Mr Mallyfly has brown dandruff?" Lily asked no-one in particular.

"I wonder if it's because his brain's made of wood and _that's_ why the Wand was looking for it?" Albus's question had an aha running all the way through it.

"Merlin's Beard, Tori, they're off again!" But his wife's laughter and tears tickled his neck, and his remark lacked its usual irritation and sounded amused. For the air was lighter now, no longer oppressed by Darkness, but fresh and bright and new.

"You've done it, Draco!" Hermione announced, with rare admiration for her childhood nemesis. "You've destroyed The Ancient Wand forever!"

"I have," he said loftily, as if it were a trifling matter he could achieve standing on his head. He _had?_ How, when, where? But he had. The Ancient Wand's hold was broken. The Gryffindors were free to roam once more. And did.

Ron stretched and yawned loudly, and with remarkable willpower passed no comment about his ex-enemy's fashion statement although he quirked an eyebrow Malfoy style at the new Malfoy style.

"Oh...er...hello," he stammered in the uncertain silence that had descended upon the adults, suddenly aware of everybody's eyes being on him. "Um...Good playdate, you think?"

Draco quirked a wary eyebrow in return as though regarding a dangerous and unpredictable species.

"We hope there'll be many more." Harry backed up his friend.

The Slytherin's eyebrows shot to the top of his head. As did Ron's. _"Really?"_ The red-headed wizard murmured, earning a mild slap on the arm from his wife.

"Well, now The Ancient Wand's gone, we can start over again. Welcome to the playdate, Astoria, Draco and Scorpius." Hermione proffered her hand, which Astoria made to shake, then abruptly changed her mind and impulsively hugged their hostess and then Ginny.

The three witches, Ron and Harry turned as one to Draco, curious to know how he would react to this startling turn of events.

" _That_ would be going too far," he commented on the hug. He was most certainly not going to turn Hufflepuff for anyone.

"How far _are_ we going then, Mr Malfoy? Time travelling?" James added helpfully in answer to his time-travelling mentor's baffled stare.

"I wonder if we can go as far as the bottom of the garden?" Scorpius conferred with best friend Rose.

"I wonder if there'll be a fairy at the bottom of the garden like the muggles say, Scorp?" she joked in return.

"Oh, there will be when my Dad gets there, Rose," he predicted innocently.

"We are NOT time travelling..." Draco began.

"We're apple hating!" Hugo yelled triumphantly.

"We are not apple..." but Draco decided he might as well give up. Kids always won.

"Any chance we could get some food, guys?" Ron sighed. "My stomach's rumbling."

"Might be an idea," Hermione agreed. She chewed her bottom lip in thought. They would have to find a way of helping Draco Malfoy out of his obvious penury without making him feel inadequate or angry. His wife and son were the answer. The easy friendship with which Astoria linked arms with she and Ginny, the easy friendship Scorpius had cultivated with Hugo, James, Albus, Lily and especially Rose, gave cause for hope. Even Boots and Trimblefeathers had settled their differences.

And so six adults, six children, a cat, an owl, a wonderful witchling star that had miniaturised and returned to its home in the pocket of its small owner, one Lily Potter, trooped back inside for the much-anticipated playdate party to begin in earnest at last.

A certain lanky wizard, who had earlier shuffle-walked, strolled a little behind the group, hands clasped behind his back, head held high. With the gifts of time and friendship, soon they, too, would walk in harmony.

 **END**

Through the corridors of sleep  
Past the shadows dark and deep  
My mind dances and leaps in confusion.  
I don't know what is real,  
I can't touch what I feel  
And I hide behind the shield of my illusion.  
So I'll continue to continue to pretend  
My life will never end,  
And flowers never bend with the rainfall.  
The mirror on my wall  
Casts an image *dark and small

But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection.

I am blinded by the light  
Of God and truth and right

And I wander in the night without direction.  
So I'll continue to continue to pretend  
My life will never end,  
And flowers never bend with the rainfall.  
It's no matter if you're born  
To play the King or pawn  
For the line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow,  
So my fantasy  
Becomes reality,  
And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.  
So I'll continue to continue to pretend  
My life will never end,  
And flowers never bend with the rainfall

 _Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall (Paul Simon)_

 **A/N:** The lyrics to the above song reminds me of Draco being tasked with killing Dumbledore. Just change three words _*dark and small_ to _pale and tall_ and...

Sorry the update was a bit late. In addition to having to borrow a laptop because my own died, I am in the middle of moving to another flat. Not as nice as where I live now, but the rent is much cheaper, it's a more permanent tenancy and it's in the same area. So no writing for a while and, when and if I do get back to it, I'll stick to one-shots – constantly writing stories without bothering to work out a plot first is not recommended! Most of all, hope to catch up with reading and reviewing others' fics very soon. :)


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